and bury it before it buries me
Her father had always been her hero, his shadow a constant presence to her. She had thought his voice to be like a summer storm, and his being was eternal. It had never once crossed her mind that her parents may not be with her forever. And why would it? Her mother was magic (she always found the flowers hidden away) and her father would battle any foe, including the monster in the closet. To lose her father (and worse, to lose him by someone’s intent) was more than she could bear.
He towers before her now, like her own father once did. There is a piece of her that is taking everything in her to not to fall against his shoulder, to wrap herself in the warmth she knows he could offer, to soak in whatever faint resemblance he holds. And he smiles at her like her father once had and she wishes for a moment his face was darker like his had been, and then she wishes it wasn't so dark, so that maybe she might not be reminded at all. But it is just wishful thinking, and she is grateful that she doesn't have to choose one or the other.
To be reminded, or to have him forgotten, they are both heavy on the soul.
“It’s old,” she comments, thinking about the stories. “Goes back and back and back,” she says, and wonders if there are ancient lines in her face that had been put there by her ancestors. If a crease in her brow was etched by Legado, if the curve in her cheek was sharpened by Tal Daray, or if the way her lips tilted was drawn by Fawn. Her face is entirely her own, but that is not to say the ones before her did not help to construct it. Placing what they thought she needed, letting the sun shine on her body until she gleamed gold. If it was them who brought her into this world when the sun was at its highest. If they all gave her such gifts, it was her mother who gave Elena her first breath.
She laughs, soprano notes, and sounds younger than she really is. “And you do not frighten the water when you shout?” Elena asks, there is an impish smile turning like a ballerina on her lips. “Hmmm tomorrow,” there is contemplation in the tilt of her chin, the roll of her blue eyes. “I suppose my guess would be that you wander, you wander, you wander some more,” she so refuses to let the humor die. “Before you come to a tree, the perfect tree in which to have a picnic under,” she says, the scene set, she is nearly satisfied as she adds one more touch. “You snack and look out and think about what a wonderful stroll you’ve taken.” Elena finishes. “But tomorrow’s tomorrow, now, that will be a day indeed, but I think I will keep it a secret for now.”
Excitement blossoms in her bones, tulips open in the white of them, unable to tell the difference between bones and snow. “I know you will,” she says sincerely. She cant quite explain it, but she thinks Asterion would try to harness the moon if the right person asked for it.
And the magic leaps before her very eyes, twists and turns. It dances and sparkles. It dives and frolics. She squeals like a child might during a game of hide and seek, when they finally seek what was hiding. A dorsal fin appears, and another, and another. Magic and life intermingle as the dolphins greet their dance partners of water and light. There is an echo of a memory that is not her own. When her own parents stood on a beach, watching a sight so similar to this one. “Thank you,” she breathes, watching the display. She leans against his shoulder, letting her weight rest against his own, she knew he was strong enough to hold her, he had to be. In that same instant though she suddenly realizes what she is doing, it is so familiar an action, one she hadn't done since she had been so small, resting against her father’s obsidian shoulder as they watched the fish jump out of the lake. She pushes herself off him, embarrassment making her grow hot. The embarrassment is an innocent as a child, and those blue eyes look at him with a child’s longing, an orphan’s longing. “Sorry, I’m—sorry.” Which is of course a lie, because she does not feel sorry at all for being near him. The more she looks, the more she sees her father in the line of his face and strength of his build, and she wonders if she is now seeing ghosts in strangers.
It’s been a long time.
She tells herself she is no longer grieving, she has made peace.
She lets herself believe it.
Elena watches the dolphins until the quiet, return back to wherever it is they go. Where they love, where they have children, where they grieve, where they try to find themselves and their pure. Wherever it is they go. She press a golden muzzle into his shoulder. It isn't a kiss so much as it is a butterfly landing upon a flower. “I have to be going,” she says suddenly, but it isn't said in such a sad way, just—at peace. “I am due at the hospital.” she says with something distant. “If you find yourself in Dusk, ask for me, I’m Elena,” she says and her voice sounds bright blue like her eyes. “Maybe I can give you a tour or something.”
He towers before her now, like her own father once did. There is a piece of her that is taking everything in her to not to fall against his shoulder, to wrap herself in the warmth she knows he could offer, to soak in whatever faint resemblance he holds. And he smiles at her like her father once had and she wishes for a moment his face was darker like his had been, and then she wishes it wasn't so dark, so that maybe she might not be reminded at all. But it is just wishful thinking, and she is grateful that she doesn't have to choose one or the other.
To be reminded, or to have him forgotten, they are both heavy on the soul.
“It’s old,” she comments, thinking about the stories. “Goes back and back and back,” she says, and wonders if there are ancient lines in her face that had been put there by her ancestors. If a crease in her brow was etched by Legado, if the curve in her cheek was sharpened by Tal Daray, or if the way her lips tilted was drawn by Fawn. Her face is entirely her own, but that is not to say the ones before her did not help to construct it. Placing what they thought she needed, letting the sun shine on her body until she gleamed gold. If it was them who brought her into this world when the sun was at its highest. If they all gave her such gifts, it was her mother who gave Elena her first breath.
She laughs, soprano notes, and sounds younger than she really is. “And you do not frighten the water when you shout?” Elena asks, there is an impish smile turning like a ballerina on her lips. “Hmmm tomorrow,” there is contemplation in the tilt of her chin, the roll of her blue eyes. “I suppose my guess would be that you wander, you wander, you wander some more,” she so refuses to let the humor die. “Before you come to a tree, the perfect tree in which to have a picnic under,” she says, the scene set, she is nearly satisfied as she adds one more touch. “You snack and look out and think about what a wonderful stroll you’ve taken.” Elena finishes. “But tomorrow’s tomorrow, now, that will be a day indeed, but I think I will keep it a secret for now.”
Excitement blossoms in her bones, tulips open in the white of them, unable to tell the difference between bones and snow. “I know you will,” she says sincerely. She cant quite explain it, but she thinks Asterion would try to harness the moon if the right person asked for it.
And the magic leaps before her very eyes, twists and turns. It dances and sparkles. It dives and frolics. She squeals like a child might during a game of hide and seek, when they finally seek what was hiding. A dorsal fin appears, and another, and another. Magic and life intermingle as the dolphins greet their dance partners of water and light. There is an echo of a memory that is not her own. When her own parents stood on a beach, watching a sight so similar to this one. “Thank you,” she breathes, watching the display. She leans against his shoulder, letting her weight rest against his own, she knew he was strong enough to hold her, he had to be. In that same instant though she suddenly realizes what she is doing, it is so familiar an action, one she hadn't done since she had been so small, resting against her father’s obsidian shoulder as they watched the fish jump out of the lake. She pushes herself off him, embarrassment making her grow hot. The embarrassment is an innocent as a child, and those blue eyes look at him with a child’s longing, an orphan’s longing. “Sorry, I’m—sorry.” Which is of course a lie, because she does not feel sorry at all for being near him. The more she looks, the more she sees her father in the line of his face and strength of his build, and she wonders if she is now seeing ghosts in strangers.
It’s been a long time.
She tells herself she is no longer grieving, she has made peace.
She lets herself believe it.
Elena watches the dolphins until the quiet, return back to wherever it is they go. Where they love, where they have children, where they grieve, where they try to find themselves and their pure. Wherever it is they go. She press a golden muzzle into his shoulder. It isn't a kiss so much as it is a butterfly landing upon a flower. “I have to be going,” she says suddenly, but it isn't said in such a sad way, just—at peace. “I am due at the hospital.” she says with something distant. “If you find yourself in Dusk, ask for me, I’m Elena,” she says and her voice sounds bright blue like her eyes. “Maybe I can give you a tour or something.”
so take away this apathy
bury it before it buries me
@Asterion
![[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
