03-18-2021, 03:10 AM
este
She has been like this for so long that she does not remember the first few days of being alive.
They feel like a fever-dream—which she has plenty of—but she has asked her mother before if it was real. If she had really once grown wings and a halo just like hers and Sela’s, and radiated a soft, blush-pink glow. Even though her mother reassures her that it was real, it doesn’t seem like it. Those days were so long ago, and she has not been able to shift into an angel since; not ever since this sickness consumed her.
The memories no longer even feel like her own; they are just ideas that Ryatah has whispered in her ear, like some sort of strange prayer.
Like if she can bribe Este with this idea of her being a living angel that she will not drift away and become a dead one.
The darkness has been here since she was born, and it sank into her bones, like lead. Every passing day she grew heavier and heavier, until she couldn’t walk, couldn’t breathe. She did not realize there was a desperate need for light inside of her, that she was losing a war against the shadows trying to suffocate her. She no longer had the strength to be an angel like Sela. She did not have the strength to follow him, no matter how badly she wanted to. Sometimes when she was sleeping curled on the ground by her mother she thought she could feel the icy touch of her brother against her cheek, but by the time she managed to pull herself out of the sleep she was nearly permanently anchored to, he would be gone.
Sela was gone, and now her mother was too, and even though Ryatah had promised that Atrox would not let anything happen to her, she still felt entirely alone.
She is not sure how long she had been asleep this time, but when she drags herself out of it and finds that her mother is still gone, there is a faint thread of panic creeping past the exhaustion she was drowning in. Her mother has never been gone for more than a few hours, ever. Weakly she lifts her head, blinking her doe-like eyes. She does not have to look hard to confirm Ryatah is not there; her glow always gave her away, and around her, there is only the endless night. “Atrox?” she asks into the dark, waiting for the familiar bright yellow eyes to blink open. When they don’t and she is met with only shadows she curls back into the ground, but despite her weakness, her heart is a restless beat in her chest.
She has never been left alone for this long, and somewhere inside of her, there is some instinctual drive that tells her to get up.
Forcing herself to stand on trembling, undependable legs, she stares again into the dark. She thinks she can see something pale, something faintly glowing. She doesn’t think it is Ryatah; it looks too small, and the faintest spark of hope flickers to life behind her breastbone. “Sela….?”
They feel like a fever-dream—which she has plenty of—but she has asked her mother before if it was real. If she had really once grown wings and a halo just like hers and Sela’s, and radiated a soft, blush-pink glow. Even though her mother reassures her that it was real, it doesn’t seem like it. Those days were so long ago, and she has not been able to shift into an angel since; not ever since this sickness consumed her.
The memories no longer even feel like her own; they are just ideas that Ryatah has whispered in her ear, like some sort of strange prayer.
Like if she can bribe Este with this idea of her being a living angel that she will not drift away and become a dead one.
The darkness has been here since she was born, and it sank into her bones, like lead. Every passing day she grew heavier and heavier, until she couldn’t walk, couldn’t breathe. She did not realize there was a desperate need for light inside of her, that she was losing a war against the shadows trying to suffocate her. She no longer had the strength to be an angel like Sela. She did not have the strength to follow him, no matter how badly she wanted to. Sometimes when she was sleeping curled on the ground by her mother she thought she could feel the icy touch of her brother against her cheek, but by the time she managed to pull herself out of the sleep she was nearly permanently anchored to, he would be gone.
Sela was gone, and now her mother was too, and even though Ryatah had promised that Atrox would not let anything happen to her, she still felt entirely alone.
She is not sure how long she had been asleep this time, but when she drags herself out of it and finds that her mother is still gone, there is a faint thread of panic creeping past the exhaustion she was drowning in. Her mother has never been gone for more than a few hours, ever. Weakly she lifts her head, blinking her doe-like eyes. She does not have to look hard to confirm Ryatah is not there; her glow always gave her away, and around her, there is only the endless night. “Atrox?” she asks into the dark, waiting for the familiar bright yellow eyes to blink open. When they don’t and she is met with only shadows she curls back into the ground, but despite her weakness, her heart is a restless beat in her chest.
She has never been left alone for this long, and somewhere inside of her, there is some instinctual drive that tells her to get up.
Forcing herself to stand on trembling, undependable legs, she stares again into the dark. She thinks she can see something pale, something faintly glowing. She doesn’t think it is Ryatah; it looks too small, and the faintest spark of hope flickers to life behind her breastbone. “Sela….?”
but who could stay?
