06-12-2018, 12:14 PM
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[sup]c) miithers[/sup]
★ WHEN MY HEART IS MADE FROM GOLD AND FORGIVENESS SEEMS TOO BOLD
ooc im morphing this into a human au bc i should have specified that earlier but i didn’t, oOPS
Hazel would forever follow the sound of music.
She would forever love the way the sounds bathed sensation over her skin; guitar strings like honey and drums like a heartbeat. It flowed like water, fell like rain, broke like glass - the notes sang like birds and wailed like thunderstorms while the baseline crashed like lightning, and the melody rolled like thunder. Music created windows to new worlds, opened eyes to souls and set poetry in motion, and she would always, always follow it.
But this time, it just so happened that she was already outside the place where the sweet notes drifted from. It was possible she had followed it here, but...she didn’t know. All Hazel knew was that her hands were shaking and her forehead was pressed against the cool metal of Suite’s door, trying to remember what she was doing and collect herself enough to actually go through with it.
Because hell, there were pieces of her scattered everywhere.
Angry pieces, bitter pieces; pieces sharp with frustration and confusion and...and god knew what else. There was fear, awash with old memories, and there was relief. All-encompassing, consuming relief in watching their idiot Seraph suck in his first breath after a minue and a half of silence. After a minute and a half of just...nothing. After no pulse, afer being able to see the deathly stillness of his body. All this time, Hazel had been so frustrated with him; so upset at him for hurting Margaery and Suite and for drinking and acting like he felt nothing. She was still frustrated with him, really. But walking up to that border, Hazel had gone cold; felt it all drip like ice into her veins, felt it freeze over and she just froze.
There was the terror of never seeing him again - of never hearing him laugh, of never rolling her eyes at his sarcastic wit or listen to his voice drag over the words of ancient classics in the fading evening light. And it washed over her slowly, cruelly, wave by wave drowning her in this horror that was losing what she’d worked so hard to get. It was in that moment, of cold, icy realization, that she realized she wanted to help him, despite everything he’d done, said, or reminded her of.
Then he woke up, staring at her like a lifeline, and looked away. And then everything came rushing back, and Hazel wanted to yell at him.
But now she realized there was something else she needed to do. Something else that had been such a roadblock for her, she could hardly do anything. So she took her shaking hands and curled it into a loose fist, knocking against Suite’s door. When there was no answer, Hazel took a shaking breath, and turned the doorknob, pushing her way in ever so slightly.
“Suite? I...can I talk to you, please?”
Hazel would forever follow the sound of music.
She would forever love the way the sounds bathed sensation over her skin; guitar strings like honey and drums like a heartbeat. It flowed like water, fell like rain, broke like glass - the notes sang like birds and wailed like thunderstorms while the baseline crashed like lightning, and the melody rolled like thunder. Music created windows to new worlds, opened eyes to souls and set poetry in motion, and she would always, always follow it.
But this time, it just so happened that she was already outside the place where the sweet notes drifted from. It was possible she had followed it here, but...she didn’t know. All Hazel knew was that her hands were shaking and her forehead was pressed against the cool metal of Suite’s door, trying to remember what she was doing and collect herself enough to actually go through with it.
Because hell, there were pieces of her scattered everywhere.
Angry pieces, bitter pieces; pieces sharp with frustration and confusion and...and god knew what else. There was fear, awash with old memories, and there was relief. All-encompassing, consuming relief in watching their idiot Seraph suck in his first breath after a minue and a half of silence. After a minute and a half of just...nothing. After no pulse, afer being able to see the deathly stillness of his body. All this time, Hazel had been so frustrated with him; so upset at him for hurting Margaery and Suite and for drinking and acting like he felt nothing. She was still frustrated with him, really. But walking up to that border, Hazel had gone cold; felt it all drip like ice into her veins, felt it freeze over and she just froze.
There was the terror of never seeing him again - of never hearing him laugh, of never rolling her eyes at his sarcastic wit or listen to his voice drag over the words of ancient classics in the fading evening light. And it washed over her slowly, cruelly, wave by wave drowning her in this horror that was losing what she’d worked so hard to get. It was in that moment, of cold, icy realization, that she realized she wanted to help him, despite everything he’d done, said, or reminded her of.
Then he woke up, staring at her like a lifeline, and looked away. And then everything came rushing back, and Hazel wanted to yell at him.
But now she realized there was something else she needed to do. Something else that had been such a roadblock for her, she could hardly do anything. So she took her shaking hands and curled it into a loose fist, knocking against Suite’s door. When there was no answer, Hazel took a shaking breath, and turned the doorknob, pushing her way in ever so slightly.
“Suite? I...can I talk to you, please?”
★ — hazel — "speech" — eight months — the ascendants — tags — ★
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WITH EVERY HEARTBEAT I HAVE LEFT
i will defend your every breath; i'll do better