[P] Perfectly Wrong

[Elena]

Elena Daray

let us live like flowers
drenched in sunlight

Y

ou killed him! You murdered my father and yet you still stand,’ she had seethed. ‘You don’t deserve to stand there.’ Lilli had stood behind her and Elena, so young, so small, still so lost in the world had stood in front of Frostbane, confronting her father’s killer, her father’s murderer. He had found her, of course he would find her. 

Elena still has nightmares of this day, wonders if one day his icy clutches may may its way to Novus, if he will find her, a debt to still be collected, a debt still owed to him. Would be try to take her? Benjamin’s first born daughter. Would he still take her? Who would take care of Elliana? Her heart would freeze in her chest as it would sink the darkest places of her thoughts. Thoughts that if the first born daughter were no longer a worthy price, if there was something else he were after, moved on—the first born granddaughter. 

Elliana. 

No, the golden girl would never allow it. Could never allow it. She understand why her father had been so willing, how the decision had been so easy to make to put his life down for his daughter because Elena would do the same for her own, like she would for so many of her family, but for Elliana, the difference is, she would take the entire world down with her if it meant her daughter, with the summer sky in her eyes, could continue on, if she could keep smiling. Elliana has made her selfish in an entirely different way, in a way she never knew possible. And she would never regret it. 

She is thinking, Elena can feel the way her thoughts tip backwards, the contemplation. Elena thinks she can find confusion there too, wriggling like some undesired pest. She understands what it is like to be confused but not lost, she feels it every day. She knows the path of motherhood, knows what happens, but as she leads Elliana down it, she thinks this trail is much more complicated than she could have ever imagined. 

“In Terrastella, yes,” Elena responds. “But not here in the swamp. I live just off the capital, by the ocean,” she says. Oh her seaside cottage, adorned with flowers inside, kept warm by a small fire. The place was quaint, but Elena could not manage anything larger, she was done with empty space, she wanted somewhere where every square inch was covered only in love. “What are you doing out in the swamp?” She asks. There were shamans here, healers often came here to do as she does, collect, but there were not so many who lived here, who were not born in its grasp. Elena takes a couple steps towards. “Are you sure you do not need any help?” She asks, casting the line, she waits with patient hands ready to pull her in if she would allow her to. “I am Elena.” And, as always, as she has with so many—Elena smiles. 

code by rallidae
picture by cannon
@Csilla