01-25-2019, 03:43 PM
living for the past
because the future's gone. praying in the dark that you won't go home. i should've said it better, i should've set fire to a letter. but i could run to your apartment, hope i get it started better than before; and i could write it in a poem, pretend i used to know you better than before.
Wishbone is a tireless wanderer at the very core of her being. Her childhood was spent leaping across lava-streams and racing Wolfbane along Tephra’s sulfur-blackened shores. Her adolescent years were spent exploring endless caverns and standing inches away from the granite cliffs with the roaring northern ocean below. She’d been lectured and mentored by her father and her mother and an ex-Khaleesi. She’d felt the weight of the crown on her head and the way that the throne felt encapsulated in a glass box. She’d explored out to the corners of the world and then trudged her way back again.
In truth, she still isn’t sure where she fits. The crown was an honor to carry, but the responsibility forced her recklessness into seclusion. Wishbone could center herself in a kingdom, make a name for herself there and make Warrick proud, wherever he is. Yet the behavior of rooting her identity into one of a peaceful kingdom-member isn’t as appealing as roaming Beqanna’s territories aimlessly. There are no places for Wishbone to slip into quietly and happily; everything rubs and itches and pulls along her skin.
She supposes it will all become pointless when the twins arrive.
He is a stranger in this land, as Wishbone had been during her years of exploration. When her forelock is successfully out of her vision, her amber eyes focus on him again. He doesn’t smell of any place she’s been before and part of her is drawn to know where he might’ve come from. The diversity of the world amazes her — it is part of what drew her to abandon Nerine’s crown in favor of the distant horizons beyond Beqanna.
“There are a few lucky bastards out there,” she says, the finger of amusement curling her lips upward. “Some of our lands are protected from the infection.” She doesn’t list their titles only because she doesn’t know them herself. Ivar hadn’t mentioned if Ischia was protected or not and Nerine didn’t seem to be. Wishbone aims to explore further if her children-riddled, fever-soaked body will allow it, but for now, she’s at a loss of answers. “It used to be a lot better than this.”
In truth, she still isn’t sure where she fits. The crown was an honor to carry, but the responsibility forced her recklessness into seclusion. Wishbone could center herself in a kingdom, make a name for herself there and make Warrick proud, wherever he is. Yet the behavior of rooting her identity into one of a peaceful kingdom-member isn’t as appealing as roaming Beqanna’s territories aimlessly. There are no places for Wishbone to slip into quietly and happily; everything rubs and itches and pulls along her skin.
She supposes it will all become pointless when the twins arrive.
He is a stranger in this land, as Wishbone had been during her years of exploration. When her forelock is successfully out of her vision, her amber eyes focus on him again. He doesn’t smell of any place she’s been before and part of her is drawn to know where he might’ve come from. The diversity of the world amazes her — it is part of what drew her to abandon Nerine’s crown in favor of the distant horizons beyond Beqanna.
“There are a few lucky bastards out there,” she says, the finger of amusement curling her lips upward. “Some of our lands are protected from the infection.” She doesn’t list their titles only because she doesn’t know them herself. Ivar hadn’t mentioned if Ischia was protected or not and Nerine didn’t seem to be. Wishbone aims to explore further if her children-riddled, fever-soaked body will allow it, but for now, she’s at a loss of answers. “It used to be a lot better than this.”
@[Loic]