03-05-2020, 01:11 PM
Sabra
The lance of wood that pierces me will not budge.
Every time it swings with my motion, droplets of thick, dark blood ooze from around it, a wound that refuses to heal. I can see over the last few days, even as the new lacerations begin to lace themselves back together with sparks and lightning glow, the bolt in my breast will not be ignored. Nor will the voices that accompany it.
Thin as bones and winter's hunger, I walk without direction, without guide or care. What does it matter where I go? There is a trail of blood that follows my every step, if someone wanted to find me, they could.
(Vagabond. Unwanted)
The whispers don't give up, even in sleep. They take on the faces of those who haunt me then, vicious lies and more vicious truths pouring from their lips like snake venom. It's not so bad, though. At the very least, it is nothing new.
(Mad woman)
The meadow where I saw the sun rise for the first time in far too long kept me safe for short days, until the chill drove me on. And the stares. Did they know me, those empty eyes and empty minds that seemed to laugh behind their concerned glances. Had they heard of me, or have I at last faded beyond recent memory. Forgetting. Isn't that what people do best?
(Not worthy of remembrance. None cried at your grave)
When the waters halt me, I blink. Had I really walked so far? But he current is a familiar one, and the shadows that cling to its banks are as well. I drink, and it is an unexpectedly frightening thing. It takes a moment for the memory to settle in my mind. Of bleeding out into this very river, because my mind was so far gone. A careless request that was all too eagerly granted. My lips curled in disgust. Leilan. He would regret taking my life one day.
(You asked for it)
I snarl, because I know it's true.
And then I stop, frozen in my directionless tracks by an onslaught of scents. Blood. Gore. Charred flesh. Sulphur.
"Castile." The name is harsh on my tongue, bitter after all these years. His form is murky, hulking on the opposite bank of the river, but I know that scent. It's engraved on my mind as much as the lightning is on my skin.
I wanna be a silk flower, like I'm never gonna die
Photo by Kareva Margarita