08-02-2020, 09:39 PM
sweating all your sins out,
putting all your thoughts back together --
She isn’t sure if she has ever felt real love for any of her children, but even her tolerance for them has dwindled as the years passed on.
They are lucky now if they get names, much less kept alive.
She would never kill them herself, of course. Murder was messy, and she has never much cared for the sound of bones breaking.
As the days went on, it sounded more appealing, though.
This one was, somehow, worse than all of her recent children combined.
Starsin had eventually given up, too stubborn and proud to repeatedly ask for love and attention she was never going to get.
Midnight had been easy to simply drop off with his older sister. She figured they could bond over her general dislike of both of them.
But Wilt is a different monster entirely.
She should have known this would eventually happen, that she could not keep up her dalliances with darkness and not expect it to spit something like this back at her. She debates locating her own mother, thinks at the very least Ryatah would be too soft to turn away her own flesh and blood. There is also a wicked kind of delight at the idea of telling her mother who the boy’s father is. Not that her mother would be jealous under usual circumstances, but she imagines she could spin the story until it at least got under her skin.
She watches him with hard, jade-colored eyes as he sleeps, and as she always does, she turns to slip away.
The fear that suddenly grips her, though, is unlike any she has felt before. It stalls her heart in her chest, steals the breath from her lungs, and sends her startling backward. She whirls around suddenly to pierce him with her steely stare, the fear replaced by fury as the vines wind up her pale legs. “You were not born of love,” she says, her voice level and icy. She does not move as the vines travel further up, creeping along her throat, across her cheek. It makes her skin crawl, sends shivers the length of her spin, but all she can do is stare, cold and unyielding. “If you want to live with your sister so badly, then go. She’s in Sylva.”
A pause, and a calculated tilt of her head accompanied by a cool smile. “Or, maybe we can locate your father. Maybe then you’ll appreciate the fact that I at least tolerate you.”
@[wilt]
putting all your thoughts back together --
She isn’t sure if she has ever felt real love for any of her children, but even her tolerance for them has dwindled as the years passed on.
They are lucky now if they get names, much less kept alive.
She would never kill them herself, of course. Murder was messy, and she has never much cared for the sound of bones breaking.
As the days went on, it sounded more appealing, though.
This one was, somehow, worse than all of her recent children combined.
Starsin had eventually given up, too stubborn and proud to repeatedly ask for love and attention she was never going to get.
Midnight had been easy to simply drop off with his older sister. She figured they could bond over her general dislike of both of them.
But Wilt is a different monster entirely.
She should have known this would eventually happen, that she could not keep up her dalliances with darkness and not expect it to spit something like this back at her. She debates locating her own mother, thinks at the very least Ryatah would be too soft to turn away her own flesh and blood. There is also a wicked kind of delight at the idea of telling her mother who the boy’s father is. Not that her mother would be jealous under usual circumstances, but she imagines she could spin the story until it at least got under her skin.
She watches him with hard, jade-colored eyes as he sleeps, and as she always does, she turns to slip away.
The fear that suddenly grips her, though, is unlike any she has felt before. It stalls her heart in her chest, steals the breath from her lungs, and sends her startling backward. She whirls around suddenly to pierce him with her steely stare, the fear replaced by fury as the vines wind up her pale legs. “You were not born of love,” she says, her voice level and icy. She does not move as the vines travel further up, creeping along her throat, across her cheek. It makes her skin crawl, sends shivers the length of her spin, but all she can do is stare, cold and unyielding. “If you want to live with your sister so badly, then go. She’s in Sylva.”
A pause, and a calculated tilt of her head accompanied by a cool smile. “Or, maybe we can locate your father. Maybe then you’ll appreciate the fact that I at least tolerate you.”
- - S T A R L U S T
@[wilt]