it's a mystery to me
we have a greed with which we have agreed. you think you have to want more than you need; until you have it all you won't be free. and when you think more than you want, your thoughts begin to bleed.
She often dreams of her childhood. Perhaps it is because her failures at motherhood consume so much of her daily thoughts. Her mind aches to catch a break from the constant thinking and grieving and regretting. As night begins to fall, her mind twists the day’s thoughts into a melting pot of memories. In the hours that she can sleep, she is an auburn child again, knees scratched from the rough face of the volcano. Sickle is with her in some dreams, and at other times it is Malik. She runs through the woods with Wolfbane, Rivuline, and Delphi.
The dreams are like knives to her heart. They remind her of the bittersweet innocence of children. They remind her of all the ways she has failed to protect her children. Some mornings she wakens with a burning anger in her chest and other times the sunrise glistens off her tear-stained cheeks. She is full of regrets and mistakes and failures. The soft optimism her mother had taught her has become hardened by the hands of life.
When her eyes open to a foggy autumn morning, Wishbone feels only an empty heaviness. It is a strange feeling, to be heavy and empty at the same time. As she stretches her dark legs along the dew-soaked riverbank, she wonders if she would float away if it weren’t for the weight of her sins holding her down. Each step feels purposeful and yet entirely uncontrolled.
It has been years since she has shown her face to society. The shame of her failure as a queen and a mother has made her panicked at the thought of conversation. At the sound of approaching footsteps, Wishbone’s heart drums quicker and she feels her throat go dry.
The dreams are like knives to her heart. They remind her of the bittersweet innocence of children. They remind her of all the ways she has failed to protect her children. Some mornings she wakens with a burning anger in her chest and other times the sunrise glistens off her tear-stained cheeks. She is full of regrets and mistakes and failures. The soft optimism her mother had taught her has become hardened by the hands of life.
When her eyes open to a foggy autumn morning, Wishbone feels only an empty heaviness. It is a strange feeling, to be heavy and empty at the same time. As she stretches her dark legs along the dew-soaked riverbank, she wonders if she would float away if it weren’t for the weight of her sins holding her down. Each step feels purposeful and yet entirely uncontrolled.
It has been years since she has shown her face to society. The shame of her failure as a queen and a mother has made her panicked at the thought of conversation. At the sound of approaching footsteps, Wishbone’s heart drums quicker and she feels her throat go dry.
@assailant
