06-04-2019, 12:01 AM
The details feel out of reach when she tries to catch them, slipping past her like the gossamer silk of a spider's web. There’s a feeling buried someplace deep inside her chest, tangled in the fingers of her ribs, something that catches and pricks painfully at her. A thing that desperately wants to be discovered, or remembered, a thing that she is desperate to forget.
So she turns a shoulder to it because that is easier, and because when she opens her eyes it still feels like she’s waking in a dream.
“How strange.” She murmurs, lifting that delicately beautiful face to peer around a place with no shape and no sound and no edges for her eyes to fall against. It is a long while before she tries to stand, and so many of those early seconds are spent feeling like something is off or wrong, something she can’t quite place. They add weight to her brow, draw a deep furrow against a shade of soft, dappled mahogany someplace hidden beneath the tangles of a dark silk forelock.
It is unease that finally pushes her to her feet, unease that urges her forward into a dreamscape that swirls with grey and white and fog, a place that feels like it might have been beautiful if it had a sound. She imagines it would sound like morning, with birds that sing too loud and too soon at a sun that rises too slowly. There would be a creek, too, and this strange silver mist would roll right off the waters glittering surface - and trees. Where else would the birds be singing from if not from the leafy fingertips of beautiful birch trees.
But even though she tries so hard to cling to that peaceful picture in her mind, there is still that prickle in her chest, a burr caught between her ribs and it hurts more with every hesitant step she takes. With every quiet breath she -
She freezes, is frozen by that sudden surreal panic that rises like a tide in her belly. Is locked in place by bones that tell her no and joints that cling too tight, too painful.
She doesn’t breathe.
She doesn’t breathe.
She doesn’t breathe.
And all at once she feels like she must be suffocating, like her lungs should be burning and the vessels in her eyes should be swelling and bursting. Like the world should be coming undone, should be shattering to pieces around her ears. Something, anything, everything should be happening because she doesn’t breathe, can’t breathe, doesn’t need to breathe.
But nothing happens, not even a heaving in her chest as the panic sinks its teeth into the vulnerable meat of her heart, and the memory of adrenaline pushes her into a run.
She just needs to get out of this place, this dream? Just needs to wake up and forget everything because these truths bubbling up inside her make her feel so small and lost and scared, make her see things at the edges of her mind that she doesn’t want to acknowledge. A girl on fire and crying out in pain, and it’s so strange because she wears Linnea’s quiet face.
Then she hears it, the sound of voices, of familiar voices that make her forget the coldness settling in her skin, and the way her lungs sit frozen in her chest. She collides with her mother, interrupts a moment between them that should’ve been gentle and beautiful and so pure. But she shatters it with her rough, ragged edges and the ice of her skin when she presses her face into Leliana’s shoulder. She feels immediately braver as any child does when they’ve found their protector, feels like it’ll be okay now because mom is here and so is dad and they would never let anything bad happen to her. So there’s so much aching relief on her face when she lifts it to glance bashfully between her parents, finally feeling foolish for making such a scene. “I thought something was wrong,” she explains with such soft, earnest eyes, “I don't know how I got here or where here even is, but you’re here too so it must be okay.” She takes a deep breath, a shaky sigh, and curls her body in against her mothers long legs, hiding beneath a wing from mist trying too hard to touch her skin. “I just got a little scared because I can’t find my heartbeat anymore.”
So she turns a shoulder to it because that is easier, and because when she opens her eyes it still feels like she’s waking in a dream.
“How strange.” She murmurs, lifting that delicately beautiful face to peer around a place with no shape and no sound and no edges for her eyes to fall against. It is a long while before she tries to stand, and so many of those early seconds are spent feeling like something is off or wrong, something she can’t quite place. They add weight to her brow, draw a deep furrow against a shade of soft, dappled mahogany someplace hidden beneath the tangles of a dark silk forelock.
It is unease that finally pushes her to her feet, unease that urges her forward into a dreamscape that swirls with grey and white and fog, a place that feels like it might have been beautiful if it had a sound. She imagines it would sound like morning, with birds that sing too loud and too soon at a sun that rises too slowly. There would be a creek, too, and this strange silver mist would roll right off the waters glittering surface - and trees. Where else would the birds be singing from if not from the leafy fingertips of beautiful birch trees.
But even though she tries so hard to cling to that peaceful picture in her mind, there is still that prickle in her chest, a burr caught between her ribs and it hurts more with every hesitant step she takes. With every quiet breath she -
She freezes, is frozen by that sudden surreal panic that rises like a tide in her belly. Is locked in place by bones that tell her no and joints that cling too tight, too painful.
She doesn’t breathe.
She doesn’t breathe.
She doesn’t breathe.
And all at once she feels like she must be suffocating, like her lungs should be burning and the vessels in her eyes should be swelling and bursting. Like the world should be coming undone, should be shattering to pieces around her ears. Something, anything, everything should be happening because she doesn’t breathe, can’t breathe, doesn’t need to breathe.
But nothing happens, not even a heaving in her chest as the panic sinks its teeth into the vulnerable meat of her heart, and the memory of adrenaline pushes her into a run.
She just needs to get out of this place, this dream? Just needs to wake up and forget everything because these truths bubbling up inside her make her feel so small and lost and scared, make her see things at the edges of her mind that she doesn’t want to acknowledge. A girl on fire and crying out in pain, and it’s so strange because she wears Linnea’s quiet face.
Then she hears it, the sound of voices, of familiar voices that make her forget the coldness settling in her skin, and the way her lungs sit frozen in her chest. She collides with her mother, interrupts a moment between them that should’ve been gentle and beautiful and so pure. But she shatters it with her rough, ragged edges and the ice of her skin when she presses her face into Leliana’s shoulder. She feels immediately braver as any child does when they’ve found their protector, feels like it’ll be okay now because mom is here and so is dad and they would never let anything bad happen to her. So there’s so much aching relief on her face when she lifts it to glance bashfully between her parents, finally feeling foolish for making such a scene. “I thought something was wrong,” she explains with such soft, earnest eyes, “I don't know how I got here or where here even is, but you’re here too so it must be okay.” She takes a deep breath, a shaky sigh, and curls her body in against her mothers long legs, hiding beneath a wing from mist trying too hard to touch her skin. “I just got a little scared because I can’t find my heartbeat anymore.”