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02-11-2015, 06:26 AM
och jag växte upp snabbt, från min barndom var det allt—jag föddes redan slagen
då tänker du tyst och skriker högt, memorerar hela jävla monologen som skrevs för din inre röst,
The cavern had become like their hearts—a beautiful ruin. Shards of still-glowing crystal lay upon the ground, discarded like forgotten toys of some infant god, but they were growing dim, and dull, as if whatever magical light had blessed them was dying, too. Mauja's gaze slipped from Elding for a moment, to watch the last of the shimmering dust settle, and to, maybe, give her a moment to breathe, free from the intensity of his pale eyes. “Le—Leos,” and she had turned to face him. The gentle glow of the cave reflected in the wetness on her cheeks, glistened across her dark eyes. Leos. It sounded like a mangled variant of ljós, and something about it tugged at his lips, but his smile was weak and fragile. Had she heard him whisper it? Did she know what it meant?
Did it matter? He could be her light anyway, if she would have it, and not be afraid of the shadows he cast...
But the smile faded as she backed away, her breathing drowning the sound of his own, and the clanging of her hooves in the ruin masked the sound of his own heart, until he wondered if he was drowning along with her in her misery—because he could practically taste it in the charged air, and he knew that it hurt.
One step.. two steps.. three.. stumbling and graceless, she did as he did, fled from the comfort of others, but did she flee for the same reasons? Was she, too, afraid to let others in? Unable to do it, because she didn't know how to? Did she feel like she had to weather everything alone? Like she had to be strong enough to deal with everything, no matter what it was, and when it came?
Did she know how it broke your heart, to watch her recoil?
He had spent his entire life shutting others out and it was only now that he knew how it hurt, still-sharp glass dust pressed into his heart. Each step she took was a weight in his soul, a half-formed word upon his tongue, don't go, a need to reach out and hold her in place but.. did she back for the same reasons he closed all doors, or did she genuinely not want him there? Respect and fear kept him grounded, his soft eyes sad in the gentle light.
When Psyche had died, he had needed someone—anyone—to anchor him, to sling their head over his back and hold him.. but none had been there. His daughter had needed him, and as a father, he had to care for her before he cared for himself, and no one else present had been there to keep him afloat.
Until Kahlua had come with her accusations and her anger.
Elding was up against a wall, and stopped moving; his ears strained in the distorted soundscape, listening to her broken, quiet voice. Helovia was a cruel place. “Do you…ever have nightmares?” "No," he had the time to say from where he stood, unmoving and frozen in his fear of rejection, until her resolve to fight was broken, and sorrow took its toll. Tears, reflecting the defiant light, fell from her eyes, and Mauja found himself moving. She didn't need to suffer this alone. She didn't need to suffer this unguarded.
She didn't need to think she was the only one who ever felt like that, fighting the sadness tooth and claw but not being strong enough to win.
The owls left his back, found perches among the ruin, talons delicately gripping sharp edges and eyes turning outward; white knees bent and touched the hard ground, tiny gouges of red ripped in his skin where his weight pressed against shards, until with a grunt he lay beside her, long legs neatly folded beneath his bulk. His eyes glowed with the pastel lights of the cavern, and his soul beneath it glowed with the strange, warm things he felt. For a moment he simply laid there, almost hesitant to touch her, afraid that she would keep recoiling from the comfort he offered, but.. what kind of friend was he, if he did not dare to risk himself for her?
So he reached out, a warm, dark muzzle to brush against her tear-stained cheek, until, finally, it came to rest by her ears, and with a trembling heart he whispered—
"It is when awake that I am haunted."
[ @[Roskuld] ]
Did it matter? He could be her light anyway, if she would have it, and not be afraid of the shadows he cast...
But the smile faded as she backed away, her breathing drowning the sound of his own, and the clanging of her hooves in the ruin masked the sound of his own heart, until he wondered if he was drowning along with her in her misery—because he could practically taste it in the charged air, and he knew that it hurt.
One step.. two steps.. three.. stumbling and graceless, she did as he did, fled from the comfort of others, but did she flee for the same reasons? Was she, too, afraid to let others in? Unable to do it, because she didn't know how to? Did she feel like she had to weather everything alone? Like she had to be strong enough to deal with everything, no matter what it was, and when it came?
Did she know how it broke your heart, to watch her recoil?
He had spent his entire life shutting others out and it was only now that he knew how it hurt, still-sharp glass dust pressed into his heart. Each step she took was a weight in his soul, a half-formed word upon his tongue, don't go, a need to reach out and hold her in place but.. did she back for the same reasons he closed all doors, or did she genuinely not want him there? Respect and fear kept him grounded, his soft eyes sad in the gentle light.
When Psyche had died, he had needed someone—anyone—to anchor him, to sling their head over his back and hold him.. but none had been there. His daughter had needed him, and as a father, he had to care for her before he cared for himself, and no one else present had been there to keep him afloat.
Until Kahlua had come with her accusations and her anger.
Elding was up against a wall, and stopped moving; his ears strained in the distorted soundscape, listening to her broken, quiet voice. Helovia was a cruel place. “Do you…ever have nightmares?” "No," he had the time to say from where he stood, unmoving and frozen in his fear of rejection, until her resolve to fight was broken, and sorrow took its toll. Tears, reflecting the defiant light, fell from her eyes, and Mauja found himself moving. She didn't need to suffer this alone. She didn't need to suffer this unguarded.
She didn't need to think she was the only one who ever felt like that, fighting the sadness tooth and claw but not being strong enough to win.
The owls left his back, found perches among the ruin, talons delicately gripping sharp edges and eyes turning outward; white knees bent and touched the hard ground, tiny gouges of red ripped in his skin where his weight pressed against shards, until with a grunt he lay beside her, long legs neatly folded beneath his bulk. His eyes glowed with the pastel lights of the cavern, and his soul beneath it glowed with the strange, warm things he felt. For a moment he simply laid there, almost hesitant to touch her, afraid that she would keep recoiling from the comfort he offered, but.. what kind of friend was he, if he did not dare to risk himself for her?
So he reached out, a warm, dark muzzle to brush against her tear-stained cheek, until, finally, it came to rest by her ears, and with a trembling heart he whispered—
"It is when awake that I am haunted."
[ @[Roskuld] ]
du lät exakt som ismael.
