06-03-2021, 07:21 PM
I knew her for a little ghost
That in my garden walked;
The wall is high—higher than most—
And the green gate was locked.
That in my garden walked;
The wall is high—higher than most—
And the green gate was locked.
Like Reave, Elliana is not her mother’s only child. There was James—and the twins. Elliana should hate the twins, should hate how much Altair reminds Elli of Elena when Elli had been an infant herself. But she never made mention to them the leaps and bounds higher little Altair and Ava were on the scale of Elena’s affection.
To know that she, compared to the twins, that Elliana has not been thought of as much as them, should bother her. Elli should be on fire with jealousy flushed with scorn and insulted beyond measure that such a thing has occurred. Perhaps, if she were different, Elliana might have been, and maybe she still entertains a bit of bitterness, but if such a thing happens, it is either fleeting or so subtle an ache that she can't feel it.
But, perhaps, if she had not wanted to fall out of her mother’s good graces, she might not have left her when she needed her.
“I would suppose,” she says with the lightness of a bird. His closeness, it feels strange at first, it has been so long since someone has pressed themselves into her. Was it Aeneas? When they sat in their field of magic? When they promised each other they would be friends. Friends, friends, friends. Was it Aeneas last? And now Reave? She pauses, unsure, but smiles nonetheless. He laughs and suddenly she is sure, she is so sure.
Some, like Reave were meant to be cathedrals. Holy, saving, grand. Still others, they were meant to be like a cottage, quiet, quaint, hidden until found, others castles, impenetrable, powerful, intimidating. Elliana has resided herself to be nothing more than a crypt. Forgotten unspoken of, and yet a flitter of memory that fills whoever may stray their thoughts in that direction with something akin to gloom and dread. She holds caskets of her mother’s memories. Her brother, her godmother, lands she can no longer reach, a title she once held, her mother’s parents, and all the rest. Every cousin, friend, aunt, uncle, godfather. Each a casket slide carefully in-between every muscle, bone, nerve, to sit there. Occasionally brought to light like placing flowers at a tombstone.
She knows where her grave rests, but there is comfort in knowing. She was promised a rose for a heart, and for it to be Isolt to lower her inside it. A red poppy tucked in her hair. There is comfort in the unicorns’ promise. “Then you shall be left no flowers.” A silver bell voice like her mother’s. But where hers chimes a single note, Elliana’s seems to echo and echo and echo. She smiles though. “But until then—“ she says and grabs a daisy grow near the river. “You can have this one,” she says and places it in the hair near his shoulder.
“Reave—,” a question, or a statement, or a command, or a plea. “I want to—let me—I could—can I heal you?”
@[Reave]