[P] you're my rain [fall]

[Elena]

Elena

let us live like flowers
drenched in sunlight

A

smile sinks into those sharp, pixie-like cheeks of hers as he holds her. She forgets that she needs to be strong because he has so much strength in the way he holds her. She thinks, I don't have to be strong, she thinks she doesn't have to be fire anymore. Not with him here. She follows him with the quiet confidence he gives her to the table.

She carves away, whittling the wood like she thinks a merchant may. Blue eyes tilt over towards him occasionally, warm with gentle curiosity. Wood chips fall upon the table as she continues. Elena looks over once more but is met with a chuckle from the starred stallion and she laughs back. “Okay, okay,” she says in defeat as he hides his work like a squirrel hiding acorns for winter.

And then there is a scroll placed in front of her, and her blue eyes turn a summer’s day. “Oh, Az,” she says. Is this how he sees her? Beautiful amongst a field of flowers, so flawless. There is a sudden urge to rip it apart, to break this illusion, this vision she hasn't earned from him. How can he think her so lovely when she sits here with another man’s baby so close to her heart? “It’s not finished yet,” she says in mock accusation, shooing him away, trying to forget the guilt that rattles in her rib cage like a lion desperate to roar. “I am not as fast as you are.” She drops her eyes to the drawing he has made for her. Everything inside her clenches like a vice. What secrets was she hiding? She wishes she could cover them up as easily as a carving.

He leaves, she knows he will come back, Elena thinks it might be easier if he never returned to her. She needs to tell him, she needs to tell him. He comes back though, there is relief in her eyes as she takes the drink, but she cant meet his eyes as she takes a sip. The change in her is evident, the guilty silence, the pained frown on her lips.

There has always been something kind about Azrael, something sturdy.

Something so wholly different from the darkness that consumed and ate away Tenebrae. Tenebrae had been masterful in the way he had taken her apart, piece by piece, but Azrael is so wholly wonderful at putting her back together. She sinks into the depth of his voice and finds comfort. She forget everything here. The lake, the stars, the wish—the baby. She has almost forgotten all of it. She lets out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding.

All of the emotion she has kept so tucked away. All of the ways she has pretended that she’s okay when she’s not. She’s not. They come tumbling down. She is not the reliable healer, or the bubbly kingdom greeter, she is not the stable friend who offers a shoulder when needed. Instead, she is what she has always been, a broken woman. She floods with grief and confusion and pain. Hot tears form in the corner of her eyes and she begins to tremble, the warning signs of the rumblings along her faultlines. She begins to sob quietly, ashamed of herself but unable to hold them back any longer. She grits her teeth against the soft cry that builds in her throat and she presses her cheek against him suddenly.

He is so steady and she hates herself for releasing all of this onto him, laying it at his feet. All of the jagged parts of her that she never wanted him to see. All of the ways life has mangled her heart.

“I am so sorry,” she finally chokes, her voice thick. “I am so sorry.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek, even though she knows she doesn’t deserve it. She steals it anyway, when she has the chance. She wants to tuck it away for another day, another day when she deserves to kiss him and has earned the right for him to kiss her back. “I am so broken.” She feels the tears as they trace down her too prominent cheekbones, the path of them burning. “I don't deserve to have you standing there.” And she finally admits it out loud. “Azrael,” and oh how she does not deserve to speak his name right now. It burns her lips with the taste of sin. “I’m pregnant, the father, it’s a man named Tenebrae.” She throws the weight of her burden onto his shoulders because her legs are buckling beneath her. “I’m sorry,” she says again, as if this time it will make a difference. “He—I cant tell him about the baby, he cant know,” she says quietly, as if there is no longer any air in her lungs. “Can you forgive me?” She says, because she knows, she can feel it from him that this is more than just friendship. She waits, to feel the emotions slide from him, those bruised blue eyes hang on him like he is a buoy and she has forgotten how to swim.

She turns away.

Carve.

Carve.

One final arch of the tool and it is done.

“I made this…for you.” She says, suddenly, pulling something off the table towards him. The carving—is poorly done, there is enough evidence to see that it is a bird, although what type may be harder to distinguish. “It’s Noctura, to remember,” she is practically hiccuping over her words, her sobs. “That night we found her.” She peers up at him from long lashes that still cling with tears. Elena wears agony well, it glistens her eyes and sharpens her cheeks. “Please, don’t let that be our last night together.”

code by rallidae
picture by cannon
@Azrael