07-24-2018, 03:58 PM
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i never had nobody touch me like i'm glass
The concept of divinity never occurred to Hazel. Some might think that as a child, she would have looked for some sort of outlet, something to hold on to in her troubled life — but she didn’t. She didn’t have a reason why. She said Deus, but it didn’t mean anything to her. Hazel lived in her godless mindset because it was living in a twisted sort of freedom, and warped freedom was better than her prison cell at home. The concept of a higher power dragging her along a predestined string that led to her fate was confining and...terrifying, to be honest.
But every now and again, something would brush against her soul. It wasn’t something she could pin down or name; it was a whisper, a wisp: a fleeting sensation of an echo. It was the drag of sound through a tunnel, of marble and monuments and touching the horizon line; it was ancient and smooth and smelled of saffron. It was akin to deja vu in the sense of being thrown out of mind, knowing the scene and the sights but unable to put your finger on it. Like smoke, like the infinite depths of something cold but not quite chilling. Like replicating embers and crushing mountains. It was a godless feeling of chaos and absurdly out of place comfort. After, Hazel would be winded and dazed, at a loss. Her skin would tingle, her veins would burn, and she’d be restless, the look in her eyes not quite there.
Didn’t matter. Hazel’s belief in divinity was absent until the matter absolutely crossed her. Until then, she had little issue with what people believed in, so long as they weren’t forcing it on her.
Yet again, it was Bastille’s presence that dragged her in, though she chose not to linger on it. Hazel was rarely this close to the coast line. Her irrational fear of water was too strong — the merciless pull of the current, the unforgiving creatures that lurked where she couldn’t see. No, the water was not for her. But she was there anyway, pulled by a bond with a boy that she couldn’t seem to pin down. She arrived after Imperia had been spat out of the foaming depths, but the salt on the wind and the dazed look in her eyes still set Hazel’s teeth on edge, still locked her limbs.
Concern managed to override most of her fear, miraculously; people were already bombarding the poor girl with questions and not only was it overwhelming for Hazel to hear so many voices at once, but it was probably distressing to Peri, as well. “Can we give her some space, please?” The feline borderline demanded. “Peri just went through something really traumatic — can we wait to ask her who spoke to her when she’s not soaking wet and concussed?” Her request probably would have been more effective had she not been so out of the way of the crowd, the idea of squeezing between a bunch of bodies already suffocating enough.
But every now and again, something would brush against her soul. It wasn’t something she could pin down or name; it was a whisper, a wisp: a fleeting sensation of an echo. It was the drag of sound through a tunnel, of marble and monuments and touching the horizon line; it was ancient and smooth and smelled of saffron. It was akin to deja vu in the sense of being thrown out of mind, knowing the scene and the sights but unable to put your finger on it. Like smoke, like the infinite depths of something cold but not quite chilling. Like replicating embers and crushing mountains. It was a godless feeling of chaos and absurdly out of place comfort. After, Hazel would be winded and dazed, at a loss. Her skin would tingle, her veins would burn, and she’d be restless, the look in her eyes not quite there.
Didn’t matter. Hazel’s belief in divinity was absent until the matter absolutely crossed her. Until then, she had little issue with what people believed in, so long as they weren’t forcing it on her.
Yet again, it was Bastille’s presence that dragged her in, though she chose not to linger on it. Hazel was rarely this close to the coast line. Her irrational fear of water was too strong — the merciless pull of the current, the unforgiving creatures that lurked where she couldn’t see. No, the water was not for her. But she was there anyway, pulled by a bond with a boy that she couldn’t seem to pin down. She arrived after Imperia had been spat out of the foaming depths, but the salt on the wind and the dazed look in her eyes still set Hazel’s teeth on edge, still locked her limbs.
Concern managed to override most of her fear, miraculously; people were already bombarding the poor girl with questions and not only was it overwhelming for Hazel to hear so many voices at once, but it was probably distressing to Peri, as well. “Can we give her some space, please?” The feline borderline demanded. “Peri just went through something really traumatic — can we wait to ask her who spoke to her when she’s not soaking wet and concussed?” Her request probably would have been more effective had she not been so out of the way of the crowd, the idea of squeezing between a bunch of bodies already suffocating enough.
© MADI
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WITH EVERY HEARTBEAT I HAVE LEFT
i will defend your every breath; i'll do better