06-19-2018, 02:47 PM
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[sup]c) miithers[/sup]
★ WHEN MY HEART IS MADE FROM GOLD AND FORGIVENESS SEEMS TOO BOLD
From the start of the day, Hazel had been off-kilter: restless and shaken, an indescribable itch scratching away at her bones. Productivity wasn’t her solution, and neither was pent up energy, for she was as tired as ever. Exhausted, in fact, from her ordeal with Bastille, comforting Margy, and talking to Suite. Everything was sapping at her energy like there was no end, like the hits would just keep on coming.
She was getting frustrated pacing in her room, feeling like the walls were about to squeeze the air right out of her lungs. Her heart was racing, her paws were jittering and everything was vibrating and Deus, she need to get out of here. Hazel was about to start climbing walls with that odd anger starting low in her stomach and chest, waiting for the spark that would ignite it.
With a lash of her tail and a frustrated noise, the feline stalked out of her room. She didn’t really have a set destination in mind until she hit the staircase. That fleeting thought about her talk with Margaery had reminded her that she needed to pay their Seraph a special visit. While her agitated state probably wasn’t the best for a good ol’ heart to heart, Hazel didn’t really care.
Hazel was nearing the top step when it trailed along her spine: the cold, pale, wispy fingers of wrong wrong wrong. It carded through her fur, parting the air around her in a chilling breeze and crackle of electricity. Hazel’s stomach dropped, the blood in her veins freezing, because...fuck, fuck, she remembered this feeling. She remembered it drowning her when Bastille showed up on the border without a heartbeat. Except...that sensation had been tinged with icy blue; why was this tinged with - rose -
Very suddenly Hazel was running, sprinting as fast as her paws would take her to find Margaery Mikaelson-Folie, all concepts of finding Bastille lost. She was racing the overwhelming feeling of silence, of stillness, trying to outrun it before it reached its victim. She couldn’t lose Margy, wouldn’t be able to take the shock of it, the low burning desperation that would forever drive her out of her mind because she thought Margy was strong enough. She thought Margy could handle it, could take it -
Then she rounded the corner, heart slamming wildly against her chest with words already spilling off her lips. “Margaery ubi est? Ubi est ea?” Hazel demanded, fear and panic crawling into her throat. She was terrified, fucking beside herself with fear, awash with chills and desperation because she had felt it coming, she could save her.
But the crowd confirmed it. Confirmed what she already knew, really, but refused to believe. Hazel’s breath hitched - snagged in her throat, already sore with the oncoming tears. She moved on autopilot, every trembling part of her throwing off waves of despair.
“Nulla nec nulla nulla, non commodo…” The girl whispered, voice breaking. Tears glittered, fat and wet on the ledge of her eyes. “Ne recedas, Margaery.” She breathed.
Hazel felt lost - alone and broken in two as she watched the four squirming bundles huddled against Margaery’s belly. She wanted to admire them, to coo and gush over the new life, but for the life of her...she couldn’t. Not when Margaery was dead. Not when Hazel could still smell the rich scent of roses invading her nose, and the gentle warmth of the other feline as she carefully allowed the first real hug of her life.
She barely registered the letter with her name on it, quietly sliding it to herself and refusing to open it. She wouldn’t be able to read it, anyway, but it still smelled of Margy, and that, she could cherish. Hazel curled in on herself, tucking her paws underneath her.
If she had known the world would be this heartbreaking, she would have never left home.
(Margaery ubi est? Ubi est ea? - Where is Margaery? Where is she?
Nulla nec null nulla, non commodo… - No, no no, please don’t…
Ne recedas, Margaery - Please don’t go, Margaery)
She was getting frustrated pacing in her room, feeling like the walls were about to squeeze the air right out of her lungs. Her heart was racing, her paws were jittering and everything was vibrating and Deus, she need to get out of here. Hazel was about to start climbing walls with that odd anger starting low in her stomach and chest, waiting for the spark that would ignite it.
With a lash of her tail and a frustrated noise, the feline stalked out of her room. She didn’t really have a set destination in mind until she hit the staircase. That fleeting thought about her talk with Margaery had reminded her that she needed to pay their Seraph a special visit. While her agitated state probably wasn’t the best for a good ol’ heart to heart, Hazel didn’t really care.
Hazel was nearing the top step when it trailed along her spine: the cold, pale, wispy fingers of wrong wrong wrong. It carded through her fur, parting the air around her in a chilling breeze and crackle of electricity. Hazel’s stomach dropped, the blood in her veins freezing, because...fuck, fuck, she remembered this feeling. She remembered it drowning her when Bastille showed up on the border without a heartbeat. Except...that sensation had been tinged with icy blue; why was this tinged with - rose -
Very suddenly Hazel was running, sprinting as fast as her paws would take her to find Margaery Mikaelson-Folie, all concepts of finding Bastille lost. She was racing the overwhelming feeling of silence, of stillness, trying to outrun it before it reached its victim. She couldn’t lose Margy, wouldn’t be able to take the shock of it, the low burning desperation that would forever drive her out of her mind because she thought Margy was strong enough. She thought Margy could handle it, could take it -
Then she rounded the corner, heart slamming wildly against her chest with words already spilling off her lips. “Margaery ubi est? Ubi est ea?” Hazel demanded, fear and panic crawling into her throat. She was terrified, fucking beside herself with fear, awash with chills and desperation because she had felt it coming, she could save her.
But the crowd confirmed it. Confirmed what she already knew, really, but refused to believe. Hazel’s breath hitched - snagged in her throat, already sore with the oncoming tears. She moved on autopilot, every trembling part of her throwing off waves of despair.
“Nulla nec nulla nulla, non commodo…” The girl whispered, voice breaking. Tears glittered, fat and wet on the ledge of her eyes. “Ne recedas, Margaery.” She breathed.
Hazel felt lost - alone and broken in two as she watched the four squirming bundles huddled against Margaery’s belly. She wanted to admire them, to coo and gush over the new life, but for the life of her...she couldn’t. Not when Margaery was dead. Not when Hazel could still smell the rich scent of roses invading her nose, and the gentle warmth of the other feline as she carefully allowed the first real hug of her life.
She barely registered the letter with her name on it, quietly sliding it to herself and refusing to open it. She wouldn’t be able to read it, anyway, but it still smelled of Margy, and that, she could cherish. Hazel curled in on herself, tucking her paws underneath her.
If she had known the world would be this heartbreaking, she would have never left home.
(Margaery ubi est? Ubi est ea? - Where is Margaery? Where is she?
Nulla nec null nulla, non commodo… - No, no no, please don’t…
Ne recedas, Margaery - Please don’t go, Margaery)
★ — 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