05-28-2021, 07:24 PM
I knew her for a little ghost
That in my garden walked;
The wall is high—higher than most—
And the green gate was locked.
That in my garden walked;
The wall is high—higher than most—
And the green gate was locked.
They share something in common, but perhaps this is the one memory that Elliana does not remember. While Reave was born with memories streaming into his ears like a raging river, Elliana was born with memories surrounding her. She looked at them and they were reflected back at her on their mirror surface. Where her mother saw memories of the past—Elliana was too young, and so the enchanted mirrors showed her memories of the future. She wont know this, wont remember this, but in one mirror there was a girl who looked like her, older, longer hair, more apathy in her eyes than any child could possibly.
And there was a boy of bone.
The memory both begins and ends in a river.
That Elliana is still her, and yet not entirely. She is more beautiful, older, the once little girl who decided she was no longer little. She is the dark one, dark like shadows, dark like the bottom of a shallow lake, dark like the mouth of a cave. But not as cold, and with eyes like a blue sky, free of clouds, a sky that opens wide and gaping. Elliana does not reach out to touch the world, instead is content to watch it. She is social, but prefers to be alone. Elliana is complex and sturdy, and if she were anyone else, she might have gone mad like her mother did a long time ago.
She convinced herself a long time ago that things were always meant to play out as they had (Novus had taught her early on that the gods are neither merciful nor heartless—just absent) and that everyone directed their own fate. That her mother pointed herself in the direction of her own sorrow. Elliana had played no part.
Little girl, little girl, you dirty liar.
“And now, Reave, you are wet,” she says, her voice a musing lilt like violins and laughs a quiet, tinkling laugh that sounds like bluebirds and clarinet, for only a beat before settling in the put of her stomach. For once her laugh does not taste like strawberries as it sits there, but like oak and redwood.
The bird, a companion, not unlike the bird that bonded itself to Maeve, though larger—far larger. Does it bother her? She shrugs lightly and pulls one side of her lips further back than the other, making a strange little smirk out of that cheery smile.
Maybe, if she had been a sad, little girl.
Maybe if she had not been so fascinated by the blood and the bone.
And maybe if she was just a little more homesick—the blue of his eyes would have shattered her. As mirror-like as they were.
“Does it frighten you to think where your grave may be, Reave? Do you fear it?” She says, that smirk turning into something more elusive. Elliana is grim, but she is not heartless and her words are not said as anything more that a curious question. She can still feel the heat on her forehead of the kiss Danae’s lips placed there and never took back. (Not yet, not yet, not yet.)
@[Reave]