and bury it before it buries me
The golden girl has always been so sensitive to those that hurt, to those that ache. Having felt her own pain, physically, mentally, deep in her soul where it carves lines into fissures that will never get filled, she does not wish to see it in others. Elena has always had her compassion, it is what has separated her from all those monsters that had tried to find her, to stop her, to change her. But she turned from them all. Elena has let her heart guide her far too often, and maybe that is her downfall, but it is also the very thing that allows her to rise and rise again. Tell her she is wrong and she will only fold you into an embrace and plant a loving kiss upon your cheek.
She moves with grace she had not been born with. No, Elena had been clumsy, always due to her impulsive personality, ready to burst forward on unsteady limbs, eager for strong muscles and the same pose her mother had. But watching her now, floating from rock to rock, over the obstacles set out before them, she is as enchanting as her mother with all her finesse and beauty.
Her cries and she wants to cry with him. Her body shudders. In an instant she is beside him, without even thinking she is at his side, it is instinctual. And should he ever cry again, she would be there. His large body leans towards her and Elena wraps her own golden body around him as much as she can, desiring nothing more than to be close to him in this moment. “Shhh, shhhh,” she soothes, as she used to do to those she was healing. She tries to quiet him, to steady him. Blue eyes cannot see what wound ails him, and she knows it is buried underneath his skin, a lesion that is so much more difficult to treat.
Heat roves off his body and she can feel it sink into her own. She hums gently, anything to bring him back to here, to where they are now, to ground his mind. And she sees not weakness here, but she sees his strength and just how glorious of a man he was. Only those with the greatest of souls could feel the soul of another. Elena, as she holds him, prays for the pain to ease, but cannot help but be in awe.
His lips are against her, and she doesn't want him to pull away. She can almost feel when he returns to her, and still she wraps around him tighter still. He would not let go of her so easily. “Who is she?” Elena asks him, closing her eyes as she presses herself closer, if she could bury herself under his skin, no doubt she would. And she would heal every piece of him from the inside out.
They.
He says, and she cannot imagine the heavy burden he must shoulder. “I want to help you,” she says to him, pulling away only to look into his eyes. If she could dream for him—she would. Maybe then she would see herself and how he dreams of her, and Elena would realize how much she did not deserve him. Elena had no right to Azrael, but still, she follows him.
She can trust him, she finds, far more easily than she could ever trust herself.
The darkness seems heavier than usual here. The stars aren't even pinpricks of light, and there is no wedge of silver from the moon in the endless black. There are clouds, clouds that never look like themselves at night. Never soft and white and fluffy. They are submissive to the dark, flowing together like a deep bruise of black and blue and purple. Darkness where shadows bleed together, length and grow and take on lives of their own. He steps in front of her and Elena huddles behind him. “What’s going on?” She asks him only when the mists come. The mists, the same that had taken Paraiso out of this world, that had attacked her home. There is nothing here—
But screaming.
And then—pieces of agonizing light in the dark.
She moves with grace she had not been born with. No, Elena had been clumsy, always due to her impulsive personality, ready to burst forward on unsteady limbs, eager for strong muscles and the same pose her mother had. But watching her now, floating from rock to rock, over the obstacles set out before them, she is as enchanting as her mother with all her finesse and beauty.
Her cries and she wants to cry with him. Her body shudders. In an instant she is beside him, without even thinking she is at his side, it is instinctual. And should he ever cry again, she would be there. His large body leans towards her and Elena wraps her own golden body around him as much as she can, desiring nothing more than to be close to him in this moment. “Shhh, shhhh,” she soothes, as she used to do to those she was healing. She tries to quiet him, to steady him. Blue eyes cannot see what wound ails him, and she knows it is buried underneath his skin, a lesion that is so much more difficult to treat.
Heat roves off his body and she can feel it sink into her own. She hums gently, anything to bring him back to here, to where they are now, to ground his mind. And she sees not weakness here, but she sees his strength and just how glorious of a man he was. Only those with the greatest of souls could feel the soul of another. Elena, as she holds him, prays for the pain to ease, but cannot help but be in awe.
His lips are against her, and she doesn't want him to pull away. She can almost feel when he returns to her, and still she wraps around him tighter still. He would not let go of her so easily. “Who is she?” Elena asks him, closing her eyes as she presses herself closer, if she could bury herself under his skin, no doubt she would. And she would heal every piece of him from the inside out.
They.
He says, and she cannot imagine the heavy burden he must shoulder. “I want to help you,” she says to him, pulling away only to look into his eyes. If she could dream for him—she would. Maybe then she would see herself and how he dreams of her, and Elena would realize how much she did not deserve him. Elena had no right to Azrael, but still, she follows him.
She can trust him, she finds, far more easily than she could ever trust herself.
The darkness seems heavier than usual here. The stars aren't even pinpricks of light, and there is no wedge of silver from the moon in the endless black. There are clouds, clouds that never look like themselves at night. Never soft and white and fluffy. They are submissive to the dark, flowing together like a deep bruise of black and blue and purple. Darkness where shadows bleed together, length and grow and take on lives of their own. He steps in front of her and Elena huddles behind him. “What’s going on?” She asks him only when the mists come. The mists, the same that had taken Paraiso out of this world, that had attacked her home. There is nothing here—
But screaming.
And then—pieces of agonizing light in the dark.
so take away this apathy
bury it before it buries me
@Azrael
![[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
