and bury it before it buries me
“Tenebrae.”
Her words are a whisper of sound, the keening of a wounded heart, but they sound so sweet when they take the shape of his name. She looks into him with a long gaze as if she might turn up answers beneath his shadows. And she tilts her head in a way that is so deeply reminiscent of her mother that Beylani’s breath would hitch if she could see her. She is her mother’s daughter, and that is why she floods with forgiveness that wants to spill over and drown his heart, but Elena is so resistant to do so. Even when she feels the remorse leap off him like fireflies by the river, dancing through grace.
(Like a girl of sunshine and boy of shadows dancing through bonfire embers.)
There are pieces of them that are one in the same. Practically written across their foreheads, their histories, their childhoods dragged down to their marrow. And maybe this is why he had found her that night because Elena has never had a parent to cling to, and so when she look over her shoulder, it was Tenebrae who walked from the shadows, not her parents. The silence thunders against her eardrums, watching him carefully. They are fire and gasoline. They are so wrong for each other and yet, Elena thrives on moments like this. Her eyelids drift shut as a lungful of air is drawn through her body. She can nearly taste him (and the other woman who has pressed her body against him.)
She presses her brow to his and there is a flutter in her heart, a feeling she had forgotten since she had last stood at the edge of cliff, taunting danger as she danced along its edges. She closes her eyes as colors behind dark lashes. A faint pattern takes place before her, realizing the fatal attraction of the type of men that have taken a starring role in her life. Underworld, Aerwir, Tunnel…Tenebrae. All men that have fallen from grace, all men that have looked upon Elena with hunger in their eyes and palms sweaty with need. They all have found something within the golden girl that brought them to her again and again. Elena never had a chance. “I would ask if you missed me,” she says boldly and her voice trails off for a moment as she glances out towards the water. “But it seems like an obvious answer.” She says quietly, guileless, and helpless beneath the his touch.
They pull away.
(They always pulls away.)
The wind is a gentle caress that plays through the long strands of her hair, entangling them with his as he stands so close to her. The beating of her heart thrumming steadily but quickly within her golden breast as the blue of her eyes consume him, memorizing the hard lines of his face. It’s so hard to not consider the possibilities of him, what it would be like to curl up against the broadness of his massive figure, to feel the volcano within him consume her. Once she had been all fire and brimstone, what would it be like if she could feel that again? Those thoughts are swiftly followed by the other possibility. That the bed he would build next to her would be warm for the summer, the autumn, but grow cold in the snow of winter.
If only he were wholly hers.
Trembling without realizing it, blue sky eyes are filled with ghosts as she is haunted by her own personal demons. Quickly, she bats her lashes as she looks to the black sea, the little sparkle of moonlight that hits the curve of calm waves as he tells, speaks, confesses. For a moment the fierceness of her is slightly softened, biting for a moment at her lower lip. For just a moment she feels a brick come loose in the crusting mortar. “I would have been,” she says, pressing the secret into his hands and folding his fingers over it as if it were a butterfly with gentle wings and soft flutters. But she doesn't tell him about the faces she saw, faces she hasn't seen in so long. Emotions that she felt deep in her chest, so heavy it was the anchor that tried to send her to the bottom of the sea.
Why, she asked him. She thinks, with water still fogging her brain (and her heart still drown, though not with ocean water) maybe she should have never asked it at all. “We are wrong for each other,” she whimpers, constellations exploding in her chest as she goes blind with her desire. Her mouth reaches over and touches his skin, against his jaw, down his neck. But it doesn’t help. Her mind practically fractures with the reality and fiction, he dances in her vision as she trembles against him. She moves closer because she knows she is supposed to move away, she is scared, so scared, that when her head clears—that she will do just that. So, for now, she huddles closer to him, descending into what is wrong, as chaotic and as beautiful as she had tumbled off the cliff side.
She looks up at him, tilting that golden head up as blue eyes spark realization. “I can feel you,” she admits, and it flurries inside because if she was summer and the sun, then he was winter and its moon. She knows what he is going to say, can feel it as the same visions that had caused to dance into the ocean water in a twirl of despair.
No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.
A rush of courage, a blaze in those summer sky eyes darkened to midnight, thinking of brazenly pressing her lips to his. And she realizes that she is no longer thinking it before she is there. Because so many have taken and taken and taken from—it was time for her to take from them. Elena snatches his sin from his lips onto her own. She pulls away from him, half hoping he would follow her, half wishing he wouldn’t. It is only then she grows steely, her eyes glaze over like ocean storms that gather out on open water. There is a tsunami in her chest and it builds and builds. Destruction sits waiting on her tongue. “But you did it anyway.”
And the tidal wave hits the shore.
Her words are a whisper of sound, the keening of a wounded heart, but they sound so sweet when they take the shape of his name. She looks into him with a long gaze as if she might turn up answers beneath his shadows. And she tilts her head in a way that is so deeply reminiscent of her mother that Beylani’s breath would hitch if she could see her. She is her mother’s daughter, and that is why she floods with forgiveness that wants to spill over and drown his heart, but Elena is so resistant to do so. Even when she feels the remorse leap off him like fireflies by the river, dancing through grace.
(Like a girl of sunshine and boy of shadows dancing through bonfire embers.)
There are pieces of them that are one in the same. Practically written across their foreheads, their histories, their childhoods dragged down to their marrow. And maybe this is why he had found her that night because Elena has never had a parent to cling to, and so when she look over her shoulder, it was Tenebrae who walked from the shadows, not her parents. The silence thunders against her eardrums, watching him carefully. They are fire and gasoline. They are so wrong for each other and yet, Elena thrives on moments like this. Her eyelids drift shut as a lungful of air is drawn through her body. She can nearly taste him (and the other woman who has pressed her body against him.)
She presses her brow to his and there is a flutter in her heart, a feeling she had forgotten since she had last stood at the edge of cliff, taunting danger as she danced along its edges. She closes her eyes as colors behind dark lashes. A faint pattern takes place before her, realizing the fatal attraction of the type of men that have taken a starring role in her life. Underworld, Aerwir, Tunnel…Tenebrae. All men that have fallen from grace, all men that have looked upon Elena with hunger in their eyes and palms sweaty with need. They all have found something within the golden girl that brought them to her again and again. Elena never had a chance. “I would ask if you missed me,” she says boldly and her voice trails off for a moment as she glances out towards the water. “But it seems like an obvious answer.” She says quietly, guileless, and helpless beneath the his touch.
They pull away.
(They always pulls away.)
The wind is a gentle caress that plays through the long strands of her hair, entangling them with his as he stands so close to her. The beating of her heart thrumming steadily but quickly within her golden breast as the blue of her eyes consume him, memorizing the hard lines of his face. It’s so hard to not consider the possibilities of him, what it would be like to curl up against the broadness of his massive figure, to feel the volcano within him consume her. Once she had been all fire and brimstone, what would it be like if she could feel that again? Those thoughts are swiftly followed by the other possibility. That the bed he would build next to her would be warm for the summer, the autumn, but grow cold in the snow of winter.
If only he were wholly hers.
Trembling without realizing it, blue sky eyes are filled with ghosts as she is haunted by her own personal demons. Quickly, she bats her lashes as she looks to the black sea, the little sparkle of moonlight that hits the curve of calm waves as he tells, speaks, confesses. For a moment the fierceness of her is slightly softened, biting for a moment at her lower lip. For just a moment she feels a brick come loose in the crusting mortar. “I would have been,” she says, pressing the secret into his hands and folding his fingers over it as if it were a butterfly with gentle wings and soft flutters. But she doesn't tell him about the faces she saw, faces she hasn't seen in so long. Emotions that she felt deep in her chest, so heavy it was the anchor that tried to send her to the bottom of the sea.
Why, she asked him. She thinks, with water still fogging her brain (and her heart still drown, though not with ocean water) maybe she should have never asked it at all. “We are wrong for each other,” she whimpers, constellations exploding in her chest as she goes blind with her desire. Her mouth reaches over and touches his skin, against his jaw, down his neck. But it doesn’t help. Her mind practically fractures with the reality and fiction, he dances in her vision as she trembles against him. She moves closer because she knows she is supposed to move away, she is scared, so scared, that when her head clears—that she will do just that. So, for now, she huddles closer to him, descending into what is wrong, as chaotic and as beautiful as she had tumbled off the cliff side.
She looks up at him, tilting that golden head up as blue eyes spark realization. “I can feel you,” she admits, and it flurries inside because if she was summer and the sun, then he was winter and its moon. She knows what he is going to say, can feel it as the same visions that had caused to dance into the ocean water in a twirl of despair.
No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.
A rush of courage, a blaze in those summer sky eyes darkened to midnight, thinking of brazenly pressing her lips to his. And she realizes that she is no longer thinking it before she is there. Because so many have taken and taken and taken from—it was time for her to take from them. Elena snatches his sin from his lips onto her own. She pulls away from him, half hoping he would follow her, half wishing he wouldn’t. It is only then she grows steely, her eyes glaze over like ocean storms that gather out on open water. There is a tsunami in her chest and it builds and builds. Destruction sits waiting on her tongue. “But you did it anyway.”
And the tidal wave hits the shore.
so take away this apathy
bury it before it buries me
@Tenebrae <3
![[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
