and bury it before it buries me
Elena has always burned, always blazed. (Had Lilli not told her once that that Elena was always meant to blaze the world with her light? And it was up to those around her if they did not want to burn?) She has always been fire. The shadow man had seen her flames and had thrown upon it patrol soaked paper without regard to the destruction it would cause the both of them. So maybe he was foolish, but Elena stands there incinerating and she does nothing to smother the fire that flares in the middle of the hospital, this summer’s day.
She is to be just as equally at fault as the man that stokes the fire.
“Lead me,” she had told him and now lead her he does, right into the dark, into the shadows. Lead me. Lead me. Elena will shine brighter than any of the darkness he can give her, it is the only reason she can step into his shadows without an ounce of fear. Because she so believes that she can cast a light on his darkness and he will not swallow her whole. She thinks maybe, if it were him to be the one to drown her in shadows, maybe it wouldn't be so bad in the dark.
And then he says her name and it is just the same, just as hopeless, just as reckless, like being swept out to sea. Oh god, why did he have to say her name? Why did he have to form those letters the way he does, the way it sits on her tongue until she greedily snatches it to listen to the way it sounds on his lips in the comfort of her own thoughts. There is an instinct buried like a blade in her chest, pressing dangerously close against her heart. Her heart is suddenly heading for her throat and beating so fast. A million butterflies trapped in her chest. She feels almost sick. Her barriers so easy to break down, made of cardboard and thin glass. He must already know this.
Elena had thought she felt lost when she was wandering from Beqanna to now, but it amounted to nothing compared to this moment. When he moves close to her and she aches for him in ways she doesn't know or understand. Elena was no stranger to tense moments, and she was well aware of the live wire that passes between them now. She doesn't reach for him now, doesn't press into him. There had been danger in the way she had folded into his embrace on that cliff side, it has only taken her until now to entirely realize it as she stands firmly looking up at him. There is no scripture written for what she should do next. So Elena takes the blank piece of paper and draws arching lines of heartbreak and bold lines of passion and zigzagging uncertainty.
Who does it give power to? These names. Lilli had never told her this. She thinks herself, her own name, the fire that rests inside it, but her knees could so easily tremble with the way it tips from his mouth, there are still shivers down her spine when Tunnel had spoken the very same. “Whoever wields it,” she says with certainty. A deadly sword in the hands of an ally or an enemy. A power for villain or hero.
And then he offers her a gift that Elena cannot be so sure she wants.
Tenebrae.
His darkness comes for her then. Perhaps she had known it would. It does so envy the light.
There is only smoke left billowing from her when she releases her fire upon the monk. Her stomach clenches like a fist. Anger is a poisonous thing and she can feel it filtering through her veins from her heart with each thump thump thump. With each ruinous pound of her aching heart, she unravels and she is flooded with feelings of longing, wanting, fury, hurt, each one stripping back a layer of skin until she is nothing more than a bundle of raw nerves trembling in his wake. She hates herself for wanting him to stay, for letting him undo her. (Hates the way she stands here, clawing at the chest of a man who so clearly does not want her there.) She hates the way their eyes locked and a wicked fire burns, ignited by his words, in her veins until her heart nearly bursts with it.
She remembers, underneath a Hyaline sky, with the great lake out in front of her, and the mountains cascading around her, she had prayed for something, for what Elena had not been sure. She has always been so unsure of her own fate and what she was meant to do in her life time. Elena has begun to believe that perhaps fate has forgotten her, and casts its light on another instead, forsaken its golden child and the light she offers the world.
He smiles at her and the temper of a father she barely remembers flares behind the blue eyes of her mother. It is more than just a winter chill, the look she gives him, it is glacial. Ice.
Of course I have missed you, Elena.
Elena likes to think she has grown strong having been surrounded by monsters for so much of her life, but he shatters her so easily and she has never felt so weak. She is beautiful in her desolation. Those ears fold back against her flaxen locks. She is grateful for him in this moment, a body to direct her anger towards, her frustration, instead of turning it inwards to tear apart herself, like she will do when the sun sets and she is left with only the ocean for company.
“You would be happier if you learned not to push people away,” she says, another accusation. Why does he smile? She feels fire burning in her veins and it cannot bring her lips to curl upwards as his do. She wants to respond again. He is a monk that can't want, but does, she has so much she wants to say, but Elena, for once, bites her tongue and listens as he speaks. “What did you do?” She finally asks him when he finishes. “What sins did you commit that you could not return home?” Elena says, a step closer, because she never learns, because Elena leads with her heart and not her head, even when she fights it so. “You keep far too many secrets, Tenebrae,” she says his name, the first time, and it lights her lips like bonfires in the night. It is said with gritted teeth and a seething tongue. “Tell me—please. I want to know, I want to understand.”
She is to be just as equally at fault as the man that stokes the fire.
“Lead me,” she had told him and now lead her he does, right into the dark, into the shadows. Lead me. Lead me. Elena will shine brighter than any of the darkness he can give her, it is the only reason she can step into his shadows without an ounce of fear. Because she so believes that she can cast a light on his darkness and he will not swallow her whole. She thinks maybe, if it were him to be the one to drown her in shadows, maybe it wouldn't be so bad in the dark.
And then he says her name and it is just the same, just as hopeless, just as reckless, like being swept out to sea. Oh god, why did he have to say her name? Why did he have to form those letters the way he does, the way it sits on her tongue until she greedily snatches it to listen to the way it sounds on his lips in the comfort of her own thoughts. There is an instinct buried like a blade in her chest, pressing dangerously close against her heart. Her heart is suddenly heading for her throat and beating so fast. A million butterflies trapped in her chest. She feels almost sick. Her barriers so easy to break down, made of cardboard and thin glass. He must already know this.
Elena had thought she felt lost when she was wandering from Beqanna to now, but it amounted to nothing compared to this moment. When he moves close to her and she aches for him in ways she doesn't know or understand. Elena was no stranger to tense moments, and she was well aware of the live wire that passes between them now. She doesn't reach for him now, doesn't press into him. There had been danger in the way she had folded into his embrace on that cliff side, it has only taken her until now to entirely realize it as she stands firmly looking up at him. There is no scripture written for what she should do next. So Elena takes the blank piece of paper and draws arching lines of heartbreak and bold lines of passion and zigzagging uncertainty.
Who does it give power to? These names. Lilli had never told her this. She thinks herself, her own name, the fire that rests inside it, but her knees could so easily tremble with the way it tips from his mouth, there are still shivers down her spine when Tunnel had spoken the very same. “Whoever wields it,” she says with certainty. A deadly sword in the hands of an ally or an enemy. A power for villain or hero.
And then he offers her a gift that Elena cannot be so sure she wants.
Tenebrae.
His darkness comes for her then. Perhaps she had known it would. It does so envy the light.
There is only smoke left billowing from her when she releases her fire upon the monk. Her stomach clenches like a fist. Anger is a poisonous thing and she can feel it filtering through her veins from her heart with each thump thump thump. With each ruinous pound of her aching heart, she unravels and she is flooded with feelings of longing, wanting, fury, hurt, each one stripping back a layer of skin until she is nothing more than a bundle of raw nerves trembling in his wake. She hates herself for wanting him to stay, for letting him undo her. (Hates the way she stands here, clawing at the chest of a man who so clearly does not want her there.) She hates the way their eyes locked and a wicked fire burns, ignited by his words, in her veins until her heart nearly bursts with it.
She remembers, underneath a Hyaline sky, with the great lake out in front of her, and the mountains cascading around her, she had prayed for something, for what Elena had not been sure. She has always been so unsure of her own fate and what she was meant to do in her life time. Elena has begun to believe that perhaps fate has forgotten her, and casts its light on another instead, forsaken its golden child and the light she offers the world.
He smiles at her and the temper of a father she barely remembers flares behind the blue eyes of her mother. It is more than just a winter chill, the look she gives him, it is glacial. Ice.
Of course I have missed you, Elena.
Elena likes to think she has grown strong having been surrounded by monsters for so much of her life, but he shatters her so easily and she has never felt so weak. She is beautiful in her desolation. Those ears fold back against her flaxen locks. She is grateful for him in this moment, a body to direct her anger towards, her frustration, instead of turning it inwards to tear apart herself, like she will do when the sun sets and she is left with only the ocean for company.
“You would be happier if you learned not to push people away,” she says, another accusation. Why does he smile? She feels fire burning in her veins and it cannot bring her lips to curl upwards as his do. She wants to respond again. He is a monk that can't want, but does, she has so much she wants to say, but Elena, for once, bites her tongue and listens as he speaks. “What did you do?” She finally asks him when he finishes. “What sins did you commit that you could not return home?” Elena says, a step closer, because she never learns, because Elena leads with her heart and not her head, even when she fights it so. “You keep far too many secrets, Tenebrae,” she says his name, the first time, and it lights her lips like bonfires in the night. It is said with gritted teeth and a seething tongue. “Tell me—please. I want to know, I want to understand.”
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
