05-17-2021, 08:27 PM
She wakes to a sky drenched in red and gold, with bits of burning orange swirled throughout, a sky that promises the storms she’s grown to love so much. The smile that pulls at the corners of her mouth chases away some of the dark that pools in the bottomless blue of her summer-sky eyes. It is small and subtle, a tightening of muscles that could almost be a grimace if not for the soft light that catches in the hollows of her delicate near-grey face. But then the weight of things crashes back down an instant later and that smile disappears, the sunshine gone from behind her eyes.
Mother is gone.
She can feel the loss inside her chest like a hole she will never know how to fill, a wound she cannot stop picking at long enough for it to heal. She doesn’t think she would deserve that anyway, deserve relief from this constant haunting pain that follows her through her days and finds her again in her sleep.
The monsters had taken all the entities, including her own mother.
And when the sun came back without that beautiful grulla mare in tow, that loss had made itself known inside her chest.
Revelrie had known.
It was easier not to think about, she told herself. Except that she did think of it every moment of every day, let it burn through her like fire, freeze her chest like ice. She let this pain ruin her until her face forgot how it felt to smile, until she could not recall the sound of her own laugh. She should have been there. She should have gone when that call came from the mountain to help. But she hadn’t known what she stood to lose, what she had already lost. That in denying the mountain she had denied the only chance she had to get her mother back.
This pain would follow her forever because it had been her own doing.
She deserved it.
She rose with the sun, letting it warm her storm-grey skin despite the aching ice inside her chest. She would spend the day on the southernmost edge of the Pampas, waiting on the open cliff for the storm to find her and sweep her away. If only she had wings she might leap and let it take her somewhere else, somewhere without eyes that knew the pain she tried to lock away somewhere deep inside. Sylvanas and father knew her too well, knew her enough to keep the things she would’ve kept secret pulled always to the surface of her just with the sorrow she found in their eyes.
She runs until there is sweat shining on her neck, until her metallic golden hair clings damply to her face and her throat, hiding parts of the glowing flower wreath tattooed above her shoulders. She runs until she cannot breathe and her lungs are an aching thing inside her chest, writhing and burning and begging her to stop. But she does not slow until she can smell the salt and brine over the aroma of flowers, until she can feel the wind whip her hair away from her beautiful face like pieces of shining spun gold.
And she might have smiled at the relief of being in this place of private solitude, might’ve screamed her pain into the dark waters crashing below if it were not for the sudden realization that she was not alone.
At once she is a maelstrom of surprise and anger, drowning beneath the loss of the day she had imagined the whole way here. Of being alone with her pain and all of her regret, of letting angry tears soak her face for only a second before the wind dried the trails. But she clamps down hard on her emotions, squaring her shoulders to march right past him to stand at the edge as though she hadn’t noticed he were there. As though him being here meant nothing to her. He meant nothing.
But it lasts only until the storm inside her chest thunders to the surface, only mere moments of staring angrily out at the surf with her ears pinned in her hair before she whirls on him with a scowl. She is a contrast in heather gray and dark slate, the latter like a mask over her face to better frame those crystal blue eyes and the constellation of stars stolen and placed over the soft curve of her delicate face. There are single gold streaks that race from the dark beneath her eyes to the pale heather of her cheeks, and they glow like the markings on her legs and the tattoo around her neck. “This place isn’t yours.” She says, and her eyes are meant to be full of fury, meant to be cold like the aquamarine gemstones whose color they match. But she is not expecting him to be beautiful. To be as dark as the space between stars or flecked in bits of gold like shattered sunlight.
She blinks, thrown for a moment, and then sinks back into a pain that feels like home, makes her expression stormy again. “You have the rest of the Pampas for your debauchery.” She says, and her voice is only just barely not a snarl as she reveals too much, that she has noticed him before even while he has likely never noticed her. Too plain, too grey, too much like the unpredictable storms that live inside her chest. There could be lightning snapping in those gem-blue eyes for the intensity of the anger she throws at him. But when she speaks again she has remembered how to temper herself, how to tamp down the tempest roaring inside her lest he see more of what lives in her chest than she wants him to. “This place is mine.”
Mother is gone.
She can feel the loss inside her chest like a hole she will never know how to fill, a wound she cannot stop picking at long enough for it to heal. She doesn’t think she would deserve that anyway, deserve relief from this constant haunting pain that follows her through her days and finds her again in her sleep.
The monsters had taken all the entities, including her own mother.
And when the sun came back without that beautiful grulla mare in tow, that loss had made itself known inside her chest.
Revelrie had known.
It was easier not to think about, she told herself. Except that she did think of it every moment of every day, let it burn through her like fire, freeze her chest like ice. She let this pain ruin her until her face forgot how it felt to smile, until she could not recall the sound of her own laugh. She should have been there. She should have gone when that call came from the mountain to help. But she hadn’t known what she stood to lose, what she had already lost. That in denying the mountain she had denied the only chance she had to get her mother back.
This pain would follow her forever because it had been her own doing.
She deserved it.
She rose with the sun, letting it warm her storm-grey skin despite the aching ice inside her chest. She would spend the day on the southernmost edge of the Pampas, waiting on the open cliff for the storm to find her and sweep her away. If only she had wings she might leap and let it take her somewhere else, somewhere without eyes that knew the pain she tried to lock away somewhere deep inside. Sylvanas and father knew her too well, knew her enough to keep the things she would’ve kept secret pulled always to the surface of her just with the sorrow she found in their eyes.
She runs until there is sweat shining on her neck, until her metallic golden hair clings damply to her face and her throat, hiding parts of the glowing flower wreath tattooed above her shoulders. She runs until she cannot breathe and her lungs are an aching thing inside her chest, writhing and burning and begging her to stop. But she does not slow until she can smell the salt and brine over the aroma of flowers, until she can feel the wind whip her hair away from her beautiful face like pieces of shining spun gold.
And she might have smiled at the relief of being in this place of private solitude, might’ve screamed her pain into the dark waters crashing below if it were not for the sudden realization that she was not alone.
At once she is a maelstrom of surprise and anger, drowning beneath the loss of the day she had imagined the whole way here. Of being alone with her pain and all of her regret, of letting angry tears soak her face for only a second before the wind dried the trails. But she clamps down hard on her emotions, squaring her shoulders to march right past him to stand at the edge as though she hadn’t noticed he were there. As though him being here meant nothing to her. He meant nothing.
But it lasts only until the storm inside her chest thunders to the surface, only mere moments of staring angrily out at the surf with her ears pinned in her hair before she whirls on him with a scowl. She is a contrast in heather gray and dark slate, the latter like a mask over her face to better frame those crystal blue eyes and the constellation of stars stolen and placed over the soft curve of her delicate face. There are single gold streaks that race from the dark beneath her eyes to the pale heather of her cheeks, and they glow like the markings on her legs and the tattoo around her neck. “This place isn’t yours.” She says, and her eyes are meant to be full of fury, meant to be cold like the aquamarine gemstones whose color they match. But she is not expecting him to be beautiful. To be as dark as the space between stars or flecked in bits of gold like shattered sunlight.
She blinks, thrown for a moment, and then sinks back into a pain that feels like home, makes her expression stormy again. “You have the rest of the Pampas for your debauchery.” She says, and her voice is only just barely not a snarl as she reveals too much, that she has noticed him before even while he has likely never noticed her. Too plain, too grey, too much like the unpredictable storms that live inside her chest. There could be lightning snapping in those gem-blue eyes for the intensity of the anger she throws at him. But when she speaks again she has remembered how to temper herself, how to tamp down the tempest roaring inside her lest he see more of what lives in her chest than she wants him to. “This place is mine.”
REVELRIE
it feels like falling, it feels like rain,
like losing my balance again and again