06-18-2017, 11:20 AM
Ellyse
I'm the only one who will walk across a fire for you.
it's only fear that makes you run, the demons that you're hiding from.
Every piece of her life had fallen into disarray – where her heart had once warmed with contentment, now it was icy with the frigidity of heartache and loneliness – though there are too few she would admit it to. She had always embraced change, adaptable and pliable, but too much had changed, and it left a bitter, acrid taste in her mouth. She had given her heart too willingly to a broken thing, and in turn, her once whole heart held fissures of its own. She had sought comfort and solace in the company of another, confiding in him her heartbreak and wavering uncertainty, but he, too, was broken, and he did not confide in her the way she had him.
And in the end, she is alone. Her son a wanderer, drifting to and fro, as wild and as freeform as the gentle, wayward breeze that touches the tempestuous shoreline – and her daughters, each as adventurous and as restless as she had been in her own youth, were apart from her, living independently and carefree, and thus, she is left to her own solitude.
Though the dense humidity and volcanic haze have become every bit as much a part of her, it has become a blistering wound – a hot, fervid reminder of all she had lost, of all that had somehow slipped between her proverbial fingertips, and she is left bitter, longing, and recoiling into herself. She had never minded isolation before. She often kept to herself, a quiet and calculating force to be reckoned with, with a sharp tongue and clever wit – but the birth of her children had worn away her resolve, and she no longer yearned for solitude as she might have years ago.
Yet, even so, she is still terse with anger – with resentment, dejected and uncertain of where her loyalty should lie, of where her place was. She had been uprooted from all she had known, all she had built for herself, left with nothing but ashes and the jagged fragments of what had been – and one day, she would rebuild. She would move forward, a furious tempest of prowess and certainty, but not now – not today.
The dull roar of the churning waters draw her forth from the shadow of the dense thicket; the quiet echo soothing her restless mind. Even if only for a moment. She had stolen away from the volcanic island beneath the draping cover of night, with little word spoken to any as to her whereabouts – she owed no one. Warrick had drawn away from her, pulling into himself, keeping her at bay, and though she had once thought that maybe - maybe, one day – but no, she had been mistaken.
And she would not seek to press any fervent kiss to his furrowed brow; he was a troubled man – and she had had enough of trying to mend any heart but her own.
It only served to burn her.
She is weary and worn, quietly searching the turning, rolling rapids with the dark glimmer of her hazel eyes, following the subtle and shallow shoreline with her gaze. A brief expression of recognition, followed by a deep crease in her brow line rises as a familiar figure piques her curiosity. Quietly, with the downward wind in her favor, she closes the distance lingering between them, observing the hardened line of his shoulder (where dried blood and an oozing mark remain), to the rigid muscle of his broad neck, and the terse clenching of his jaw.
”Dahmer,” she murmurs softly, almost imperceptibly low, and though she does not touch him (she wants to – to see the severity of his wound, to see if there is anything she can do to mend it), she is almost close enough to. Quietly, her gaze searches the hollow of his cheek, and the intensity of his piercing eyes, knowing he must feel as displaced and as lost as she, but she cannot bring herself to speak again.
when all your promises are gone, I'm the only one.