and bury it before it buries me
She is tired.
She is so, so tired –
Fatigue has carved its way into every tender muscle, every weary bone – she is exhausted and thoroughly spent, with her spirit, her heart, and her body falling apart at the seams.
How can she be so tired in a dream?
Being courageous is not as easy as the stories she grew up with made it seem. (Valerio and Cazador, Legado and Dead Reckoning, Ichiro and Rhaego—did any of them tremble like she does now as now she slumbers?)
She keeps dreaming of Valerio. He comes to her with a wicked smile on his face. This is not the godfather she knew—knows. He places a crown upon her head. Sometimes her crown is fire, sometimes ice. Sometimes thorns. Elena cringes with the weight of it, with the sting. He places another, tonight, and she finally finds the resolve to fly herself forward, teeth bared. Her eyes are wide with panic, pulse thumping wildly in her neck. But she collides with nothing, feels nothing. Elena stands there, breathing heavily.
She is somewhere else entirely, but she cannot quite place it. Paraiso? Hyaline? Windskeep?
Another time too, past, future? It feels achingly familiar and yet entirely different from anything she has experienced.
The emerald carpet below her feet is painted with frost glimmering like diamonds in the early sunshine. Leaves fall around her like colored raindrops; red and yellow, they settle in the small of her golden back, and she wonders if eventually they’ll bury her alive if she is still for long enough. If it were possible she might lean into her fate, she might, on a whim of superstition, hold her breath for fear that the ebb and flow of her ribs would destroy it. Because in the veins of these leaves she sees the roads she could have taken when instead she stood still. Because in the colors of these leaves, red and yellow, she sees sunsets instead. And then she senses emotions that are not her own. It tells her one thing.
She is not alone, not tonight.
There is mercy in this great, wide world yet.
“Dune,” she says, breathless when she sees him here, through all the leaves and worlds that collect in this dream land. The palomino moves towards him, and she is grateful, so grateful he is here with her. “Would you have the time to go on a walk with me?”
She is so, so tired –
Fatigue has carved its way into every tender muscle, every weary bone – she is exhausted and thoroughly spent, with her spirit, her heart, and her body falling apart at the seams.
How can she be so tired in a dream?
Being courageous is not as easy as the stories she grew up with made it seem. (Valerio and Cazador, Legado and Dead Reckoning, Ichiro and Rhaego—did any of them tremble like she does now as now she slumbers?)
She keeps dreaming of Valerio. He comes to her with a wicked smile on his face. This is not the godfather she knew—knows. He places a crown upon her head. Sometimes her crown is fire, sometimes ice. Sometimes thorns. Elena cringes with the weight of it, with the sting. He places another, tonight, and she finally finds the resolve to fly herself forward, teeth bared. Her eyes are wide with panic, pulse thumping wildly in her neck. But she collides with nothing, feels nothing. Elena stands there, breathing heavily.
She is somewhere else entirely, but she cannot quite place it. Paraiso? Hyaline? Windskeep?
Another time too, past, future? It feels achingly familiar and yet entirely different from anything she has experienced.
The emerald carpet below her feet is painted with frost glimmering like diamonds in the early sunshine. Leaves fall around her like colored raindrops; red and yellow, they settle in the small of her golden back, and she wonders if eventually they’ll bury her alive if she is still for long enough. If it were possible she might lean into her fate, she might, on a whim of superstition, hold her breath for fear that the ebb and flow of her ribs would destroy it. Because in the veins of these leaves she sees the roads she could have taken when instead she stood still. Because in the colors of these leaves, red and yellow, she sees sunsets instead. And then she senses emotions that are not her own. It tells her one thing.
She is not alone, not tonight.
There is mercy in this great, wide world yet.
“Dune,” she says, breathless when she sees him here, through all the leaves and worlds that collect in this dream land. The palomino moves towards him, and she is grateful, so grateful he is here with her. “Would you have the time to go on a walk with me?”
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
