09-14-2018, 05:35 PM
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as love filled night gives way to day
On the opposite end of that traipsing golden trail slept a girl, curls fanned out against the pillow she had fallen back on. It was her first peaceful rest in days; one that wasn't littered with the taunts of abandonment. This sleep was void of her fear of her past coming reaching towards her, sinking its claws in to drag her back to that godforsaken house. It had no tendrils of guilt brushing up her spine, of endless running to reach Suiteheart and Margaery on a road that only grew longer.
Tonight, Hazel dreamed of a glade: a clearing, bordered by ancient oak trees with woven branches. Sunlight warmed her skin and the grass underneath her feet. In her lap was a handful of clovers that she had plucked from the patch before her, searching for one with four petals. She basked in the summery atmosphere, contentment soaking into her skin. Laying back, Hazel raised her arms above her head, blocking out the sun so she wouldn't blind herself. Inspecting her fingers, she noticed the undisturbed color of them - the flawless, smooth skin, unmarred by scars and bruises.
Hazel smiled, toothy and wide, before running her fingers up and down her arms. Giddy with the feeling, she laughed, unaware that the sound echoed in the real world. Sitting up, Hazel reached for her bandana, ready to untie it and find flawless cocoa skin there as well. But before she could do so, something flashed in her peripheral vision. Slowly, she watched a pale blue light flicker through the wall of tangled oak branches.
Entranced, the girl stood, gossamer gown letting the clover slide to the grass. The light tugged on her, a sense of urgency vibrating in her veins. It called her name, pulling her heart forward so that she had no choice but to follow. "Salve?" Hazel called, her voice disembodied and distant within the dream. Slow steps brought her to the trunk of a particularly massive tree, its branches gnarled and rough with bark. The light was on the other side, incapable of getting in, and every fiber of her dream screamed for her to let it. Reaching for the trunk, she expected it to be warm with the sun, but instead it was cold. Shockingly cold, in fact - cold and smooth like metal, despite her being able to see the ridges of the bark.
Hazel blinked, suddenly plunging into a dark room. It took her little time to recognize her room, though she couldn't figure out why her hand was resting against her door. Her dream was already fading into the back of her memory, but the urgency had not. It spurred her on, insisting that she open the door. Then there was a knock that nearly startled her out of her wits, resulting in her flinging it open. As she did, fluorescent light from the hallway flooded her doorway and seared her eyes.
Squinting, she rubbed at her face, an overwhelming sense of comfort rising in her chest. She knew who it was before her eyes adjusted, and it came as both a surprise and not. Often he visited her room, to check on her, but never this late at night and never with this sort of urgency tugging on their bond. "Bastille?" Hazel finally mumbled, confused. "What's wrong? Did something happen?" She hoped it wasn't another observatory lockdown - she didn't have enough years on her life to live through another one. Nevertheless, she was praying that whatever it was, it didn't require nice clothing - because at the moment, all she had on was an oversized T-shirt she stole from Moon and...no pants. Classy.
Tonight, Hazel dreamed of a glade: a clearing, bordered by ancient oak trees with woven branches. Sunlight warmed her skin and the grass underneath her feet. In her lap was a handful of clovers that she had plucked from the patch before her, searching for one with four petals. She basked in the summery atmosphere, contentment soaking into her skin. Laying back, Hazel raised her arms above her head, blocking out the sun so she wouldn't blind herself. Inspecting her fingers, she noticed the undisturbed color of them - the flawless, smooth skin, unmarred by scars and bruises.
Hazel smiled, toothy and wide, before running her fingers up and down her arms. Giddy with the feeling, she laughed, unaware that the sound echoed in the real world. Sitting up, Hazel reached for her bandana, ready to untie it and find flawless cocoa skin there as well. But before she could do so, something flashed in her peripheral vision. Slowly, she watched a pale blue light flicker through the wall of tangled oak branches.
Entranced, the girl stood, gossamer gown letting the clover slide to the grass. The light tugged on her, a sense of urgency vibrating in her veins. It called her name, pulling her heart forward so that she had no choice but to follow. "Salve?" Hazel called, her voice disembodied and distant within the dream. Slow steps brought her to the trunk of a particularly massive tree, its branches gnarled and rough with bark. The light was on the other side, incapable of getting in, and every fiber of her dream screamed for her to let it. Reaching for the trunk, she expected it to be warm with the sun, but instead it was cold. Shockingly cold, in fact - cold and smooth like metal, despite her being able to see the ridges of the bark.
Hazel blinked, suddenly plunging into a dark room. It took her little time to recognize her room, though she couldn't figure out why her hand was resting against her door. Her dream was already fading into the back of her memory, but the urgency had not. It spurred her on, insisting that she open the door. Then there was a knock that nearly startled her out of her wits, resulting in her flinging it open. As she did, fluorescent light from the hallway flooded her doorway and seared her eyes.
Squinting, she rubbed at her face, an overwhelming sense of comfort rising in her chest. She knew who it was before her eyes adjusted, and it came as both a surprise and not. Often he visited her room, to check on her, but never this late at night and never with this sort of urgency tugging on their bond. "Bastille?" Hazel finally mumbled, confused. "What's wrong? Did something happen?" She hoped it wasn't another observatory lockdown - she didn't have enough years on her life to live through another one. Nevertheless, she was praying that whatever it was, it didn't require nice clothing - because at the moment, all she had on was an oversized T-shirt she stole from Moon and...no pants. Classy.
© MADI
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WITH EVERY HEARTBEAT I HAVE LEFT
i will defend your every breath; i'll do better