mourn, and mourn, and mourn
for where we stand, gravity persists
for where we stand, gravity persists
O
nce upon a time in a kingdom by the sea, there was a man and he had a daughter. This man was tall and he was elegant. He was held in high esteem. He was bred from warriors, and all that sprouted from the seeds he sewed, too, became warriors. But this man had a daughter and he’d loved her very much. The patriarch of the Dumas family loved his daughter so much that he thought it wise, and thought it best, to forge her into an iron so unbreakable that she would forget what it is to bend, what it is to submit, what it is to be anything less than everything. I am that daughter.
The beloved girl without wings given to a father with enough pride the sea and all her creatures should be jealous. Henry was raised well. I was raised strong.
Wild enough to tempt fate.
Wild enough to challenge the gods.
Wild enough to hold in my heart a daughter of the Day.
But I will not tell another that.
It is to Terrastella I am returning when I head into the planes. Bison graze lazily in the summer heat, paying me no heed. They should not, they are not in danger from my wrath nor my attentions. Perhaps I am as fickle as an Ieshan after all, choosing with whom to toy like choosing a cheese to go with my apples for breakfast.
The result of my endeavors does not necessarily matter, but the game and the fun of it, oh that brings all the joy.
Today, Henry is set to meet me as he so rarely does anymore at the edge of the city. Father has called us home for some reason or another, and I, ever a doting and loyal Dumas daughter, am to heed his beck and call. In the grand scheme of it, I love my father and I love my brother. When they look to me, they might see something as horrifying as it is awful and awe-inspiring, but I will always love them like life itself.
It was they who helped shape me.
For that I am forever changed.
Too soon, a little birdy flits behind and I can smell her saccharine sweetness for miles. My nose begs to wrinkle and my eyes to glower, claws coming loose on the beast so carefully, delicately kept sleeping and chained. Nothing stops that little terror of mine from knowing what I do.
Not even the little treat that inches nearer and nearer.
I wonder then, briefly, if she knows how close to death she stands?
"Do you aim to follow like a lost dog forever then?” I purr to the air, knowing that the woman will know what I say is to her and her alone.
{ @Willoughby "speaks" notes: <3 }
