prayed to keep my soul
S
omewhere, Elli’s mother is sending a thousand prayers skyward for her daughter’s immortality. She can feel it dying, the flower, but maybe this only masks the way the two of them should be dying, between Isolt and Elli, there should be death, there should be a body filling a grave that was dug so special, so precariously, as if it knows one day a rib cage will sprout roses, and daisies will fill eyes, and a heart will turn into a carnation. Flowers and death are not so unalike. She has wondered at night sometimes, what happens to the flowers that rot beside gravestones. Do they sink beneath the dirt, six feet under? And build a garden of dead things, miles, miles wide.
Isolt sighs.
And Elli thinks this is the first mortal sound she has ever heard bloom upon her lips.
She likes it, she thinks. It is the one thing, here in this moment that will cause her to seek the girl out again in due time.
Elliana knows that the flower is dying even before it begins to wilt, she knows it crosses over to that other side, to spring a bouquet for a dead lover and their darling. He will hand her a dozen cardinal flowers, dripping with decay. And she will smile back at him, a trickle of blood slides down from her eyes like teardrops.
She has never kissed anyone before, truly, mouth to mouth, but she wonders if there is as sharp a sting as the flower has left behind upon her lips.
Now.
Now what?
Now.
She listens like a little girl might listen to the sea before joining the sirens below its surface. She hangs onto every word, clawing until her fingernails turn bloody, so desperate to remember every syllable she speaks. “Okay,” she says, and when she speaks, there is a bitter aftertaste, like all the regrets the dead whisper to her in the night. And she is running before those regrets can hold her, because for all the poison on her tongue, Elliana is still very much alive.
No mater how in love with death she is.
@Isolt elliana speaks
elliana
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