and bury it before it buries me
“You could,” she says to him, still smiling despite herself. He reminds her of Cassian, which really should send those blue eyes of hers rolling. But much like Cassian, his intentions feel harmless, and in that smile is not only charm, but a kindness she can appreciate. “But don’t.” She says with a laugh that catches on her lips like a flower landing softly on blades of grass.
Elena feels like the wind for half of a heartbeat. Maybe she could blame it on her heritage, the whole of them wind talkers, air walkers, storm bringers. The names change with the history and the time but it all means the same. But she feels like how the wind does on a summer’s day, darting through the tall blades of grass, how it feels running through leaves like fingers through hair, how it feels when it skips over the ocean like a smooth stone. And it feels, pleasant. It is why she would not be able to bring herself to show disdain for his charming nature, not when it provides her a breeze on which to run upon.
Golden ears tip forwards to catch his description of the sand dunes that cover his home. She knows one day, she will have to see for herself what beauty is harnessed there in the endless golden grains.
But it when he provides her an offer to show her that suddenly fear grips her heart. “No,” she says suddenly. The imaginations of endless of dunes, of nothing but rolling sand, of a golden ocean suddenly turn wicked, and she realizes she wants anything in this moment besides the stillness it could offer her. She blinks blue eyes, suddenly realizing how she could have sounded to the pale man. “I cant,” she says, and feels the guilt fill in her stomach in the place of an explanation for her behavior. “I’m sorry.” She offers in some sort of consolation. “But if you ever need a medic, come to Terrastella, or even if you don’t,” she says and she can off him so little else that she places a kiss upon his cheek. She smiles, mischievous, there is an impish way her cheek dimples. “I’m going to run again—and this time don't catch me,” she says like a secret before that golden body turns and she is once more swallowed into the wind.
Elena feels like the wind for half of a heartbeat. Maybe she could blame it on her heritage, the whole of them wind talkers, air walkers, storm bringers. The names change with the history and the time but it all means the same. But she feels like how the wind does on a summer’s day, darting through the tall blades of grass, how it feels running through leaves like fingers through hair, how it feels when it skips over the ocean like a smooth stone. And it feels, pleasant. It is why she would not be able to bring herself to show disdain for his charming nature, not when it provides her a breeze on which to run upon.
Golden ears tip forwards to catch his description of the sand dunes that cover his home. She knows one day, she will have to see for herself what beauty is harnessed there in the endless golden grains.
But it when he provides her an offer to show her that suddenly fear grips her heart. “No,” she says suddenly. The imaginations of endless of dunes, of nothing but rolling sand, of a golden ocean suddenly turn wicked, and she realizes she wants anything in this moment besides the stillness it could offer her. She blinks blue eyes, suddenly realizing how she could have sounded to the pale man. “I cant,” she says, and feels the guilt fill in her stomach in the place of an explanation for her behavior. “I’m sorry.” She offers in some sort of consolation. “But if you ever need a medic, come to Terrastella, or even if you don’t,” she says and she can off him so little else that she places a kiss upon his cheek. She smiles, mischievous, there is an impish way her cheek dimples. “I’m going to run again—and this time don't catch me,” she says like a secret before that golden body turns and she is once more swallowed into the wind.
so take away this apathy
bury it before it buries me
@El Toro
![[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
