Georgia felt numb.
Terribly, horribly numb. She floated, listlessly, in her own mind, surrounded by the echoes of her father's death. Revolving in guilt. You killed him. You murdered him. Murderer, murderer, murderer. Krios's voice breathed against her skull. Or maybe, it was her own voice. Georgia did nothing to block it out - did nothing to stop the chill that slid down her spine. She deserved it, after all. No wonder she felt haunted all the time - her father's ghost clung to her, begging for a reason.
She wondered, idly, if he made it to Hades. If her mother saw to it that he settled in the lavish gardens of Elysium. Or perhaps Krios decided to torment him by banishing him to Asphodel...to wander endlessly, like he'd threatened to do to her.
She wished he had banished her. Georgia sank, numb, into nothing.
When she woke, it was with a startled gasp as she flung herself upright. The rain and wind howled outside; she could feel the vibration of the storm in her veins. The lightning pulsed with her heartbeat; the thunder rumbled with the tears that slid down her cheeks. It didn't matter to her where she was, or who was with her. There was a fire, forcing warmth into her skin. Her fingers scraped against worn, wooden flooring. The tavern.
She turned, expression utterly miserable, to the small group of people waiting there. Deniz, Paola, Demetra, Michael. Too many people. Her own ears roared with white noise, covering up the chatter of the tavern and hushed whispers of the patrons who stole suspicious glances of her. How did she tell them to leave? How did she ask for the worry in their faces to go away? She wiped at the tears on her cheeks, and drew her knees closer to her body, shifting towards the fire.
"You should have left me out there to die," Georgia said, quietly. Wistfully. Her voice was little more than a croak, her throat raw from screaming. None of them needed to know. They'd cast her out immediately. Her hands covered the leather cuffs that adorned her arms, rubbing them with so much pressure her thumb whitened. They had always been too big; they'd honestly fit better around her biceps. But they were her fathers, and he wore them on his wrists, so there they would stay.
Terribly, horribly numb. She floated, listlessly, in her own mind, surrounded by the echoes of her father's death. Revolving in guilt. You killed him. You murdered him. Murderer, murderer, murderer. Krios's voice breathed against her skull. Or maybe, it was her own voice. Georgia did nothing to block it out - did nothing to stop the chill that slid down her spine. She deserved it, after all. No wonder she felt haunted all the time - her father's ghost clung to her, begging for a reason.
She wondered, idly, if he made it to Hades. If her mother saw to it that he settled in the lavish gardens of Elysium. Or perhaps Krios decided to torment him by banishing him to Asphodel...to wander endlessly, like he'd threatened to do to her.
She wished he had banished her. Georgia sank, numb, into nothing.
When she woke, it was with a startled gasp as she flung herself upright. The rain and wind howled outside; she could feel the vibration of the storm in her veins. The lightning pulsed with her heartbeat; the thunder rumbled with the tears that slid down her cheeks. It didn't matter to her where she was, or who was with her. There was a fire, forcing warmth into her skin. Her fingers scraped against worn, wooden flooring. The tavern.
She turned, expression utterly miserable, to the small group of people waiting there. Deniz, Paola, Demetra, Michael. Too many people. Her own ears roared with white noise, covering up the chatter of the tavern and hushed whispers of the patrons who stole suspicious glances of her. How did she tell them to leave? How did she ask for the worry in their faces to go away? She wiped at the tears on her cheeks, and drew her knees closer to her body, shifting towards the fire.
"You should have left me out there to die," Georgia said, quietly. Wistfully. Her voice was little more than a croak, her throat raw from screaming. None of them needed to know. They'd cast her out immediately. Her hands covered the leather cuffs that adorned her arms, rubbing them with so much pressure her thumb whitened. They had always been too big; they'd honestly fit better around her biceps. But they were her fathers, and he wore them on his wrists, so there they would stay.
© LEXASPERATED
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THE SEA WAVES ARE MY EVENING GOWN:
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[glow=#3e4242,200,600]YOU ARE THE RITE OF MOVEMENT[/glow]
*:･ﾟ✧ — georgia sarris-rosi — demigod of the sea — tags