[private] can't you see my mind is a burning hell? || ledger [m]

[Ellyse]

Ellyse

I'm the only one who will walk across a fire for you.

it's only fear that makes you run, the demons that you're hiding from.

 She knew too well the heartbreak that went along with unrequited affection – and though she had thought herself strong enough to withstand the eye of the storm when it came, when the truth of their relationship had settled between her terse and tense shoulders – a burden to bear. He had warned her. She could never deny it, nor could she say otherwise. He had warned her that his heart was a beaten and broken thing, with delicate, tearing heartstrings clinging precariously to the small, infinitesimal pieces left. She pressed on, attempting to mend what she could, longing to be – if nothing else – a small beacon of light in the furious, reckless hurricane that had been his life.

  And in the wake of his departure, it was not him, but her left to pick up the pieces of her own broken heart – for she had lost so much more than a lover. A father, a friend – her only friend. Her own heart aches at the thought, but it aches less now – less and less, with each passing day, but there was a part of her that wondered if it would ever fade away completely. In time, she would find, it would not. Alas, the morning sun arises, and it falls, making way for the light of a brilliant moon – and life, unyielding and forceful, goes on.

  She is tired, and weary – and it is evident within the shadow of her gaze, steady and settled upon the strong and chiseled features of his face. She would not settle onto his scarred eye; it was no business of hers as to how he had lost it, and she would not make him more uncomfortable than he already seemingly was by prying. Not now. She, herself, was caught somewhere between her own youth and the fragility of maturity, clear in the subtle creases tucked along the side of each vivid, golden eye. Though slender and sleek, there is thick and heavy muscle under her pale skin, rippling and moving smoothly under the surface with each adjustment to her posture.

  Quietly, she observes him. Studying the carefully carved jaw bone, the deeply-set eyes (soulful, familiar), and when he quietly utters the name of his feather, her heart nearly seizes within the suddenly too tight confinement of her chest. Her heart is beating faster then - thump, thump, thump - so much so that she is certain that he must be able to hear it, even over the rustling of the evening breeze, or the distant crooning of lovebirds tucked away within a willow branch. Magnus, a name much heavier on her mind than it had been even moments ago.

  ”You look so much like him,” she murmurs before she is able to stop herself, hesitating – holding his gaze for a moment, a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding exhaled at last. ”your structure, that is – your eye color,” she says even more quietly, remembering the endless depths with warm, golden flecks. ”I know him. I knew him.”

  A pause, and then, ”I haven’t heard of an Adaline, I’m sorry,” she says quietly, and her apology is meaningful and sincere. It didn’t sound familiar to her, but she had hardly touched the surface of all those who existed within the vast expanse of Beqanna. ”and Magnus has not been seen in some time. A few years.”

  Years.

  Suddenly, her heart is so much heavier.

when all your promises are gone, I'm the only one.