and bury it before it buries me
It was a summer evening.
No.
It was an autumn afternoon.
She had been raised to be a sweet girl, polite, to forgive when she was slighted and to always find joy when all felt lost. She wonders sometimes if she will forever live the shadows of those greater than her. (No one in Novus can see those shadows, but Elena can, and they loom over her, watching to see if she becomes anything more than just the foolish girl they all think she is.) She is a legacy child, and that means she looks to the greats, as she is expected to be something herself. Her father had given himself, his life, for her, and Elena sometimes wonders if he could, if he were here, if he would ever regret that decision. She knows he would never say something like that, know that her father so wholly loved her, but maybe he just thought something more would come from the sacrifice.
Sleep has been alluding her, (she awakes and thinks: there was a boy, she awakes and thinks: there was no boy) so maybe this is why she goes back to the festivities. She could try to nap in the warm afternoon in autumn, but she would sit there and turn and toss and plead with whatever gods and spirits there are to just let her close her eyes one time and drift off for a moment. It is useless, her thoughts have been tangled like smoke around trees. Elena had not had this much trouble finding sleep since she had been a little girl and the nightmares of ice and snow had chased her down every evening.
She could go you know, to Denocte, and tell them everything, but she had not forgotten the promise she had made to him. Elena’s heart is not cruel. Selfish, confused, broken, but never cruel.
She can trace the branching lines of her past in the arches of the trees of the swamp. Even when she has gone so far away from it all (from the mountain valleys to the sea) Elena still finds pieces of her old life wherever she wanders. There is this rough cut beauty to her, there among the trees of vibrant color. She almost blends in with a coat of gold and she thinks maybe she can fall behind the backdrop.
That is until she spots the commander up ahead. Elena smiles, a familiar face, and one that was welcomed. Elena finds two baskets and is suddenly beside Marisol, a ready smile, and eyes that are always warm with summer skies. “Surprise seeing you here,” she says handing a basket to the woman. “Since you are, care to join me for some apple picking?” She asks brightly. Elena quietly hopes that she is able to manage the time. Something burns in her chest, and she wanted to share it with Marisol. “There is something I wanted to discuss with you, if you have the time,” she asks patiently, before look up ahead where rows and rows of apples wait.
It was an autumn afternoon.
No.
It was an autumn afternoon.
She had been raised to be a sweet girl, polite, to forgive when she was slighted and to always find joy when all felt lost. She wonders sometimes if she will forever live the shadows of those greater than her. (No one in Novus can see those shadows, but Elena can, and they loom over her, watching to see if she becomes anything more than just the foolish girl they all think she is.) She is a legacy child, and that means she looks to the greats, as she is expected to be something herself. Her father had given himself, his life, for her, and Elena sometimes wonders if he could, if he were here, if he would ever regret that decision. She knows he would never say something like that, know that her father so wholly loved her, but maybe he just thought something more would come from the sacrifice.
Sleep has been alluding her, (she awakes and thinks: there was a boy, she awakes and thinks: there was no boy) so maybe this is why she goes back to the festivities. She could try to nap in the warm afternoon in autumn, but she would sit there and turn and toss and plead with whatever gods and spirits there are to just let her close her eyes one time and drift off for a moment. It is useless, her thoughts have been tangled like smoke around trees. Elena had not had this much trouble finding sleep since she had been a little girl and the nightmares of ice and snow had chased her down every evening.
She could go you know, to Denocte, and tell them everything, but she had not forgotten the promise she had made to him. Elena’s heart is not cruel. Selfish, confused, broken, but never cruel.
She can trace the branching lines of her past in the arches of the trees of the swamp. Even when she has gone so far away from it all (from the mountain valleys to the sea) Elena still finds pieces of her old life wherever she wanders. There is this rough cut beauty to her, there among the trees of vibrant color. She almost blends in with a coat of gold and she thinks maybe she can fall behind the backdrop.
That is until she spots the commander up ahead. Elena smiles, a familiar face, and one that was welcomed. Elena finds two baskets and is suddenly beside Marisol, a ready smile, and eyes that are always warm with summer skies. “Surprise seeing you here,” she says handing a basket to the woman. “Since you are, care to join me for some apple picking?” She asks brightly. Elena quietly hopes that she is able to manage the time. Something burns in her chest, and she wanted to share it with Marisol. “There is something I wanted to discuss with you, if you have the time,” she asks patiently, before look up ahead where rows and rows of apples wait.
It was an autumn afternoon.
so take away this apathy
bury it before it buries me
@
![[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
