and bury it before it buries me
“When we aren't sure what to do, or when troubled times come, we pray,” Melody had told baby Elena, with earthen eyes looking into her own before bowing her head in prayer. “But who are we praying to?” Elena had asked, never a child satisfied with one sentence answers. “The Gods, our ancestors,” she offers, her head remaining bowed, that voice strained with whisper as she tries to remain quiet, a voice that told Elena questions were done, until Melody finished her prayers. And so Elena had been taught to worship these faceless gods and these ancestors she has never met. But, she had never found comfort in clinging to a salvation she never truly believed or understood.
The line ‘fear no evil’ had left an impression. She remembers in the prayer. And maybe that is what she has done, time and time again as she caresses monsters, warms herself against demons, and dances with shadows. Fear no evil.
“Salt water, that is how you clean a wound, Elena,” the obsidian healer had told the young apprentice. Salt water. She can smell the sea on him, and it feels almost unfamiliar as she looks to him with those sky blue eyes. Salt water would heal, but she has no idea that it had been the very same that had nearly killed him.
She does not think about what would have happened if he had not found her, she does not think of it now, but it creeps in the back of her mind promising to come again.
She longs to mirror his own actions, to press against him, but duty fogs her desires. But there is a shadow of a smile on her features as she notices his face ghosts his own. She can feel his eyes on her as she analyzes his wounds (she would know the intensity, however weak it may be right now, of his gaze anywhere.)
When she returns his eyes are closed and Elena sighs, but she works, and works, blue eyes flittering to his chest to watch it rise and fall. It is when his blood runs clean that his eyes open and Elena finds him. He is beautiful in this moment, tired, but healed, and she traces the lines of his face with blue eyes. She had found surprising kinship with the Denocte man. (It begins and ends with their title: orphan.) “A wound like this would never heal on its own,” she asserts. But she searches his face and it is then she softens into a smile.
“Do you have to go?” She asks him, and her voice sounds so small in that moment. Elena moves her body close to him as he moves to stand on shaking limbs. “You should rest,” she says, and though it is true, she says it for reasons other than his health. But he doesn't leave, he comes close, so close to her, brushes her hair from her eyes. and those lips press against her cheek for the briefest of moments. (However brief the kiss is, Elena will think about it for so much longer, she can feel it linger on her skin after his lips pull away.) She doesn't say anything in response to his thanks, just blinks those blue eyes in his direction.
He turns to leave and she draws him back to her. “Names have more power than you may believe, Denocte,” she says with narrowed eyes. ‘Give a thing a name, give it power over you.’ Lilli had said to her underneath a Taigan night sky not so long ago when Elena had turned up in its forest with magic layered on her skin. ‘There is magic in names.’ And he denies her so.
His rejection of her echoes in the back of her mind, haunting her. But there is still that damn curiosity, the want to know his body heat, the want for him to cradle her delicate curves against his side, to feel the press of his lips against her cheek once more and let it trail down the arch of her neck. Everything inside her lurches to move hold him closer to her chest, but she doesn’t.
The sigh of her breath slips easily enough between them, it sits uncomfortably amongst the tension. Why was she so eager to be hurt? Elena needed to learn to keep her heart to herself instead of placing it at the feet of another and praying they would not trample it.
“Leave you alone?” She questions him, lacing ears back into that flaxen mane. “Have you forgotten, Denocte?” She asks him. “It was not me who approached you in Night beside the bonfires and dancers,” she begins, her blood rising, that fire whirling inside her, much more than the beautiful embers that so often burn there. “It was not me, who found you at the edge of the cliffs here in Terrastella,” she seethes. “And it was not me who came to you in the hospital reeking with sickness.” Elena bites at him with words, they gnash their teeth and bare their fangs. “For one who does not wish to be here.” (To be with me, she bites on the sentence, reeling it in before it finds its wings.) “You sure have a knack for ending up beside me anyway.” She accuses him.
“So perhaps you should not make promises you don't intend to keep.” The girl retorts, so different from the golden girl who had laughed while dancing, and smiled while perching herself on a cliff side. “We both know you cant stay away.” Promises are foolish things, and she is a fool to make them, but that has never stopped her. Though this time, maybe she is a fool for not making one. “No,” she says. “I don't want your promise.” She says, even if she is lying to herself. She wanted him to promise her, but just not this.
But there is a look in her blue eyes as she stares back at him, the softness of summer blue sky. There is still a fire in her chest, but it burns with want and curiosity. “Have you missed me?” She dares to ask him after everything she has said, she knows what she does, but Elena, as she is there beside him, his blood on her coat of gold, she just doesn't care. The sentence comes out from her in an exhale, as if her lungs could no longer hold the words back. As if her very body had been cradling it for years. It sticks to her lips, unwilling to leave her lips until the question is answered. “Don’t lie to me, Denocte.”
The line ‘fear no evil’ had left an impression. She remembers in the prayer. And maybe that is what she has done, time and time again as she caresses monsters, warms herself against demons, and dances with shadows. Fear no evil.
“Salt water, that is how you clean a wound, Elena,” the obsidian healer had told the young apprentice. Salt water. She can smell the sea on him, and it feels almost unfamiliar as she looks to him with those sky blue eyes. Salt water would heal, but she has no idea that it had been the very same that had nearly killed him.
She does not think about what would have happened if he had not found her, she does not think of it now, but it creeps in the back of her mind promising to come again.
She longs to mirror his own actions, to press against him, but duty fogs her desires. But there is a shadow of a smile on her features as she notices his face ghosts his own. She can feel his eyes on her as she analyzes his wounds (she would know the intensity, however weak it may be right now, of his gaze anywhere.)
When she returns his eyes are closed and Elena sighs, but she works, and works, blue eyes flittering to his chest to watch it rise and fall. It is when his blood runs clean that his eyes open and Elena finds him. He is beautiful in this moment, tired, but healed, and she traces the lines of his face with blue eyes. She had found surprising kinship with the Denocte man. (It begins and ends with their title: orphan.) “A wound like this would never heal on its own,” she asserts. But she searches his face and it is then she softens into a smile.
“Do you have to go?” She asks him, and her voice sounds so small in that moment. Elena moves her body close to him as he moves to stand on shaking limbs. “You should rest,” she says, and though it is true, she says it for reasons other than his health. But he doesn't leave, he comes close, so close to her, brushes her hair from her eyes. and those lips press against her cheek for the briefest of moments. (However brief the kiss is, Elena will think about it for so much longer, she can feel it linger on her skin after his lips pull away.) She doesn't say anything in response to his thanks, just blinks those blue eyes in his direction.
He turns to leave and she draws him back to her. “Names have more power than you may believe, Denocte,” she says with narrowed eyes. ‘Give a thing a name, give it power over you.’ Lilli had said to her underneath a Taigan night sky not so long ago when Elena had turned up in its forest with magic layered on her skin. ‘There is magic in names.’ And he denies her so.
His rejection of her echoes in the back of her mind, haunting her. But there is still that damn curiosity, the want to know his body heat, the want for him to cradle her delicate curves against his side, to feel the press of his lips against her cheek once more and let it trail down the arch of her neck. Everything inside her lurches to move hold him closer to her chest, but she doesn’t.
The sigh of her breath slips easily enough between them, it sits uncomfortably amongst the tension. Why was she so eager to be hurt? Elena needed to learn to keep her heart to herself instead of placing it at the feet of another and praying they would not trample it.
“Leave you alone?” She questions him, lacing ears back into that flaxen mane. “Have you forgotten, Denocte?” She asks him. “It was not me who approached you in Night beside the bonfires and dancers,” she begins, her blood rising, that fire whirling inside her, much more than the beautiful embers that so often burn there. “It was not me, who found you at the edge of the cliffs here in Terrastella,” she seethes. “And it was not me who came to you in the hospital reeking with sickness.” Elena bites at him with words, they gnash their teeth and bare their fangs. “For one who does not wish to be here.” (To be with me, she bites on the sentence, reeling it in before it finds its wings.) “You sure have a knack for ending up beside me anyway.” She accuses him.
“So perhaps you should not make promises you don't intend to keep.” The girl retorts, so different from the golden girl who had laughed while dancing, and smiled while perching herself on a cliff side. “We both know you cant stay away.” Promises are foolish things, and she is a fool to make them, but that has never stopped her. Though this time, maybe she is a fool for not making one. “No,” she says. “I don't want your promise.” She says, even if she is lying to herself. She wanted him to promise her, but just not this.
But there is a look in her blue eyes as she stares back at him, the softness of summer blue sky. There is still a fire in her chest, but it burns with want and curiosity. “Have you missed me?” She dares to ask him after everything she has said, she knows what she does, but Elena, as she is there beside him, his blood on her coat of gold, she just doesn't care. The sentence comes out from her in an exhale, as if her lungs could no longer hold the words back. As if her very body had been cradling it for years. It sticks to her lips, unwilling to leave her lips until the question is answered. “Don’t lie to me, Denocte.”
so take away this apathy
bury it before it buries me
@Tenebrae
![[Image: ddvotwe-59302ba6-6a81-47bf-9846-30c5a5db...0iFb4PvyXE]](https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/8026a53b-dc57-41ab-b574-9f8a8fe57ce4/ddvotwe-59302ba6-6a81-47bf-9846-30c5a5db0780.png?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7InBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcLzgwMjZhNTNiLWRjNTctNDFhYi1iNTc0LTlmOGE4ZmU1N2NlNFwvZGR2b3R3ZS01OTMwMmJhNi02YTgxLTQ3YmYtOTg0Ni0zMGM1YTVkYjA3ODAucG5nIn1dXSwiYXVkIjpbInVybjpzZXJ2aWNlOmZpbGUuZG93bmxvYWQiXX0.ujCJH7FAbsQhfZlQniMmEd_vw-VmvaTDn0iFb4PvyXE)
let's light this house on fire
we'll dance in the warmth of its blaze
pixel made by the amazing star
