☼ s e r a p h i n a ☼
my blood will fill the ditch // my blood will bury the mountain // but for now it sits still in my mouth // just waiting on the tip of my tongue
She stirs, then, and Seraphina breathes a soft sigh of relief. Blue eyes twitch open, glassy and delirious but alive, and alive, she has learned, is what matters. Seraphina isn’t entirely sure what she has thought of Bexley Briar in the past; she exists as some incomprehensible, flickering entity, a little golden flame that Seraphina can’t quite wrap her mind around. She is all broken bones and bloodied lips, and Bexley…Bexley is supposed to be something else. Something radiant. When she looks at her now, however, crushed beneath the weight of stone and slashed across her beautiful face, she feels the sudden twinge of some strange, kindred bond burn like fire across the scars that roll beneath the wiry quicksilver of her coat. Against all the desert’s ravenous elements, she should not have survived, but there she lies – still breathing.
Her ears twitch forward to catch the girl’s words. “I’ll get you out.” Her voice comes gentler than usual. “Just stay awake.” Seraphina scans the rocks that cover the golden girl with a methodical calm; her throat is burning a ring as she shoves what remains of the twisting, writhing sensation in her chest down deep, locks it away until she can find a better use for it. For now, she searches for the first rock to move. If she isn’t careful, she knows that she could send the entire pile crashing down on the golden girl’s head. Finally – reluctantly – she reaches out with her telekinesis and begins to remove the stones with teeth-clenched concentration, one by one. As she pulls stone after stone away from Bexley’s broken frame, she begins to consider how she can transport her back to the court. She’d stitch her up temporarily, just to keep her from losing any more blood; it wouldn’t be sanitary or pleasant, given that she has little to work with but the dry, spindly grasses that sprout in clumps on the canyon walls, and Seraphina is far from a proper medic besides. With that done, she’d have to find some way to bind her legs and take her back to the court without causing any further damage to her presumably-broken bones, and, frankly, the silver isn’t sure how. No sense in wasting too much thought on it before she knows how well Bexley can move, anyways, she tells herself. Not before she has answers.
“Can you tell me who did this to you?” Just in case there isn’t the chance to ask her later, she tells herself. Just in case. Whoever had the nerve to attack Bexley and leave her to die – on their own soil, no less - had to face justice for it, and Seraphina would see it done.
my blood will fill the ditch // my blood will bury the mountain // but for now it sits still in my mouth // just waiting on the tip of my tongue
She stirs, then, and Seraphina breathes a soft sigh of relief. Blue eyes twitch open, glassy and delirious but alive, and alive, she has learned, is what matters. Seraphina isn’t entirely sure what she has thought of Bexley Briar in the past; she exists as some incomprehensible, flickering entity, a little golden flame that Seraphina can’t quite wrap her mind around. She is all broken bones and bloodied lips, and Bexley…Bexley is supposed to be something else. Something radiant. When she looks at her now, however, crushed beneath the weight of stone and slashed across her beautiful face, she feels the sudden twinge of some strange, kindred bond burn like fire across the scars that roll beneath the wiry quicksilver of her coat. Against all the desert’s ravenous elements, she should not have survived, but there she lies – still breathing.
Her ears twitch forward to catch the girl’s words. “I’ll get you out.” Her voice comes gentler than usual. “Just stay awake.” Seraphina scans the rocks that cover the golden girl with a methodical calm; her throat is burning a ring as she shoves what remains of the twisting, writhing sensation in her chest down deep, locks it away until she can find a better use for it. For now, she searches for the first rock to move. If she isn’t careful, she knows that she could send the entire pile crashing down on the golden girl’s head. Finally – reluctantly – she reaches out with her telekinesis and begins to remove the stones with teeth-clenched concentration, one by one. As she pulls stone after stone away from Bexley’s broken frame, she begins to consider how she can transport her back to the court. She’d stitch her up temporarily, just to keep her from losing any more blood; it wouldn’t be sanitary or pleasant, given that she has little to work with but the dry, spindly grasses that sprout in clumps on the canyon walls, and Seraphina is far from a proper medic besides. With that done, she’d have to find some way to bind her legs and take her back to the court without causing any further damage to her presumably-broken bones, and, frankly, the silver isn’t sure how. No sense in wasting too much thought on it before she knows how well Bexley can move, anyways, she tells herself. Not before she has answers.
“Can you tell me who did this to you?” Just in case there isn’t the chance to ask her later, she tells herself. Just in case. Whoever had the nerve to attack Bexley and leave her to die – on their own soil, no less - had to face justice for it, and Seraphina would see it done.
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I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
