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with joy and grief - Grimm - 09-03-2018
[align=center][div style="width:400px; font-size:8.4pt;line-height:1.1;color:#000;font-family:arial;margin-top:3px;margin-bottom:3px;letter-spacing:0px;margin-left:0px;text-align:justify;"]Oh, here you are
And you’re all you wished to be
There is a tragedy in the love one may find coiling about the heart, so fragile it seems glass tended to with hands roughed with callouses, scraping along the surface and leaving it raw for all who cared to see, for all must find an end. Be it upon pages left yellowed as time wore upon it, given years touched with amusement tinged laughter, smiles so sweet and kind, and tears escaping as the lips form shuddering cries, or given to the sheen of the new, stolen before their time had truly begun. Inescapable is the presence about the shoulders, hands of bone gentle as they clasp, murmuring words of peace to those proving deserving of such as, beckoning the dead into the light.
Yet what of those left behind in the wake of such passage, when the heart has found itself decorated with cracks and the gold spun between the fingers can only do so much, make damage seem pretty and inviting for those uncaring observers.
So close your eyes
Hear the whole world
Gentle are they, petals curling in as they await the caress of the sun, slow to arise above the horizon. Small paws tremble, so minute the action but noticeable, barely grazing along the roses. She had been gone for sometime now, had found her end within the garden she had held so much love for and with the curl of a smile upon pale lips, but still did she seem present. About each flower seemed her voice, murmured words touched with love, laughter so like the silver tinkling of a bell, and yet too did it carry the pain, cracking with tears pooling about the chin, eyes swimming with them as her voice strained to give life to the feelings caught in her chest. She had been everything to some, to others little more than memory, a name put to a face.
Shaky breath escapes parted lips and the child flinched as the rose bobbed, pushed by the slight breeze, gently touching upon his paw. Pulling away from it there was tears in those golden eyes once more, welling about their curve though he seemed unwilling to allow them to fall, teeth finding his lower lip, pressing into it. Fast paced are the thoughts swirling about small skull, fragments broken apart until no sense could be made from any, breathing breaking with hiccups every now and then.
Call your name
And you answer
Upon small chest, resting where teeth had found purchase and so easily parted skin seeking the veins caught beneath, symbols of the two he had lost rested. Small yet intricate were they, silver given shape his mind drew forth when those quiet moments caught him and grief proved a dark cloud over his head, slight weight but chilled against scarred flesh. Opened was the rose, if half-so, awaiting the warmth of a sun never to grace it and by its side sat a feather, curled somewhat at the end, an odd pair but such never crossed his thoughts for it mattered not their look but the meaning behind.
“Goodbye...” rough tone rose, crackling edges dragging across the tongue as paw moved to rub at his eyes, face scrunched into a look half smile and half grimace. On dark features was the mingling of joy, for had they not faced their end with smiles, welcomed as though it were an old friend they had missed so greatly, and grief, it mattered not their feelings for the child missed them both and always would, family taken from him as many had been before. He wanted to fight, to drag them back to this mortal coil to he might have a proper chance to bid them farewell, but this was all he could muster.
Please don’t go
Please don’t go away
Re: with joy and grief - ONISION. - 09-04-2018
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♦ -
//such poetic writing??? i'm dying??
i'll post after someone else does.
//such poetic writing??? i'm dying??
i'll post after someone else does.
[align=center]YOU'RE HARD TO HUG
ONISION MIKAELSON-FOLIE
tough to talk to, and i never fall asleep!
tough to talk to, and i never fall asleep!
© ceilidh
Re: with joy and grief - BASTILLEPAW - 09-04-2018
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BASTILLEPRISONER AURELIUS
BY THE GRACE OF THE FIRE AND THE FLAMES
In the end, Bastille had not found himself in tears until he felt their memories rush over him, one at a time and all at once: a sea of years and years, one lifetime after another, of joys and sorrows and love and hatred — too much for him to handle, maybe, in so quick a dosage, but the burning at the edges of his vision and the way his throat constricted and the gut-wrenching pain in his souls had been more than just the agony of forcing himself to accept too many memories at once. No, that had been them, that had been finally breaking down in the face of what they were asking of him and knowing that he had to help them, had to turn his back and walk away from them knowing he would never see them again. They may live on in him, through him, through the endless hosts of Wilhelm Grimm, stories immortalized — and they may even live on now, through two little girls — but that did not erase all of the heaviness in his bones. That did not stop him from looking to Fey and feeling guilty, on occasion, for seeking Margy in the child; or for catching hints of Suite in Bryn and being relieved.
There was nothing to be done about it now, however. Now he could only guide their young souls and wait for the day that they needed him, that fate showed him her intentions. Sometimes he found himself on the shore where they had found Suite or in Margy's rose garden, pondering absently as to what he was to do with them, and that was what he was doing here now when he found Har. Bastille was silent as he approached the young child, that deeply entrenched sorrow lapping over him slowly before he had the mind to shut his empathy off, to block out Har's emotions. He had enough of his own exhaustion to deal with, but he felt something in him sigh at the sight of the kid in so much pain.
[b]"Hey, Har," he murmured, offering nothing else as he sat close to their side, gaze on the roses. There was truly nothing he could say. They were gone, and that was that.
There was nothing to be done about it now, however. Now he could only guide their young souls and wait for the day that they needed him, that fate showed him her intentions. Sometimes he found himself on the shore where they had found Suite or in Margy's rose garden, pondering absently as to what he was to do with them, and that was what he was doing here now when he found Har. Bastille was silent as he approached the young child, that deeply entrenched sorrow lapping over him slowly before he had the mind to shut his empathy off, to block out Har's emotions. He had enough of his own exhaustion to deal with, but he felt something in him sigh at the sight of the kid in so much pain.
[b]"Hey, Har," he murmured, offering nothing else as he sat close to their side, gaze on the roses. There was truly nothing he could say. They were gone, and that was that.
[B]ASTRAL SERAPH — THE ASCENDANTS — [color=#e2e2e2]TAGS — [color=#e2e2e2]MOODBOARD — [color=#e2e2e2]PLAYLIST
Re: with joy and grief - Grimm - 09-09-2018
[align=center][div style="width:400px; font-size:8.4pt;line-height:1.1;color:#000;font-family:arial;margin-top:3px;margin-bottom:3px;letter-spacing:0px;margin-left:0px;text-align:justify;"]Rasping breath arises from crackled lips, the passage of tongue too many times leaving it dried though he was uncaring to such, a habit to focus on than anything of use, tongue peeking out as teeth close about it. Stinging pain arises, grounding though it proves unpleasant a sensation, faint whimper escaping. For a time he can do nothing though the want is there, curling about tensed muscles yet it is dwarfed by the tears, so free now though he tries to hide them, rubbing at his cheeks until the skin becomes agitated, ache settling into it.
“Miss them...” The choked words arise and slow is the turn, golden eyes bright with tears barely restrained for a short time. Slow is the body to follow and he is moving, given no prompt he is there before Bast, moving to lean into his chest, or as best he can for he is of no height to match him. Guilt arises, churning within his stomach, a sudden wash of feeling leaving him breathless, caught as he struggles to bring in the next, coughing as finally he does. They were not his family, though did he not hold the Mikaelson name, a gift from them for they had looked upon the battered, lost child and saw something he did not, a light beneath the pain, some part of him whispering it was not his place to mourn so.
Within heavy mind memory was slow to arise, each short but sweet, moments within a life so short. They had been present within Harland's life for only a short time, given only enough so their presence was little more than a single ripple, suddenly there and gone all too soon with no prior warning. He had not the words to express everything, though his mind tried, found some peace in dreams where they both seemed so real, and then there were the girls. They were only a bit younger than he and yet harboured something ageless, a quality about them which drew him as had once Margaery and Suite. Selfish was the want for them to be the two he missed, wanted back so badly, yet always did he seem drawn back, given some want to be present for they felt in some way familiar.