02-14-2021, 11:41 PM
DEAR FRIEND as you know, your flowers are withering
your mother's gone insane, your leaves have drifted away.
but the clouds are clearing up
and i've come reveling, burning incandescently,
like a bastard on the burning sea.
your mother's gone insane, your leaves have drifted away.
but the clouds are clearing up
and i've come reveling, burning incandescently,
like a bastard on the burning sea.
She'd felt it, too, though she wasn't certain on it all now. She knew the pain was still there, it still affected her, and she knew why. A part of her heart had leaked out that day, before her brains could. The petals had not been ripped off, but instead it'd been left to wilt, frost over in a deep, icy, unforgiving, and lonely blizzard. What she could have done different, what she could have done to save them, if only she'd known sooner, if only she'd been smarter, had some sort of cure, hadn't been so useless despite the warnings. If only she'd known. If only she hadn't ended up alone. The screams of their captain, the child of the island, had echoed throughout the beaches that morning. The rooms slowly emptied, trying, struggling words to explain grief, to explain how to move past it, to try and convince her babies that she wasn't broken, that they were not alone, that things would be okay. To try and convince them this blizzard was not lonely, that they had to stick closer together to stay warm.
But she'd never really warmed up. Never really came back all the way.
Not even now, the memories leaked away, the situation hardly understood, face barely seen. It had been enough to set her head off, had been enough to convince she needed to stay away from her old home. That she needed to stay closer to Sophiea. Remind her harshly to not be alone. To fear the death that would inevitably take nearly all of them someday, that should have realistically taken her long ago had it not been for the meddling of the Gods themselves. Goldenluxury Roux had Sam Brannon, had their children, had their life. But it was no longer within reach, no longer something she could recount. The tragedy only lingered in emotion, in the husk that had left her, had lead to her reaction when visiting their old life.
And that same tragedy would plague her, swirl around her head as she grew closer to the sound. She'd been hesitant - the smell of blood was never a good thing. But she needed to be useful, and it was clear, whatever had happened, it was over now. All that remained was the reaction. Her uncle, caught in his own blizzard. The least she could do was put in the effort to push past it, to reach out, offer some sort of warmth. But a part of her she'd not be able to explain knew in the end, there wasn't anything she could do to make the feeling go away. Not completely. And a part of her head was telling her this may break him entirely. That they'd reached a point of no return, and there was no avoiding it.
What could be said, though, when this sort of thing happened? What could truly be done when someone's entire world had been shot out from them?
She clears her throat. Opens her mouth, but it shivers, body stiff.
"G-Get...Rox, o-or Roan. Please." She'd let out to Eltrous, or really, anyone that would manage to hear her words. And then she'd move closer, clear that distance, enter the storm beside Michael. Her paw reaches out to his side, gently touches it, keeps it there. A warmth, soft and inviting, but not pressuring. Letting him know, simply, that she was here. What she could say, all she could come up with was sorry, but such a gesture...it felt so empty. Sorry that this happened, that nothing can be changed, that you will never get to hear them, never get to feel them, never get to laugh with them, never get to experience them again. Sorry that they will only be a memory from now on. Sorry that she could not even offer that much- not even the memories anymore. Sorry that it had to feel this lonely. Sorry that she couldn't do anything else.
But the apology would mean nothing in the end. And so she simply silently stands at his side, solemn sympathy in his storm.
But she'd never really warmed up. Never really came back all the way.
Not even now, the memories leaked away, the situation hardly understood, face barely seen. It had been enough to set her head off, had been enough to convince she needed to stay away from her old home. That she needed to stay closer to Sophiea. Remind her harshly to not be alone. To fear the death that would inevitably take nearly all of them someday, that should have realistically taken her long ago had it not been for the meddling of the Gods themselves. Goldenluxury Roux had Sam Brannon, had their children, had their life. But it was no longer within reach, no longer something she could recount. The tragedy only lingered in emotion, in the husk that had left her, had lead to her reaction when visiting their old life.
And that same tragedy would plague her, swirl around her head as she grew closer to the sound. She'd been hesitant - the smell of blood was never a good thing. But she needed to be useful, and it was clear, whatever had happened, it was over now. All that remained was the reaction. Her uncle, caught in his own blizzard. The least she could do was put in the effort to push past it, to reach out, offer some sort of warmth. But a part of her she'd not be able to explain knew in the end, there wasn't anything she could do to make the feeling go away. Not completely. And a part of her head was telling her this may break him entirely. That they'd reached a point of no return, and there was no avoiding it.
What could be said, though, when this sort of thing happened? What could truly be done when someone's entire world had been shot out from them?
She clears her throat. Opens her mouth, but it shivers, body stiff.
"G-Get...Rox, o-or Roan. Please." She'd let out to Eltrous, or really, anyone that would manage to hear her words. And then she'd move closer, clear that distance, enter the storm beside Michael. Her paw reaches out to his side, gently touches it, keeps it there. A warmth, soft and inviting, but not pressuring. Letting him know, simply, that she was here. What she could say, all she could come up with was sorry, but such a gesture...it felt so empty. Sorry that this happened, that nothing can be changed, that you will never get to hear them, never get to feel them, never get to laugh with them, never get to experience them again. Sorry that they will only be a memory from now on. Sorry that she could not even offer that much- not even the memories anymore. Sorry that it had to feel this lonely. Sorry that she couldn't do anything else.
But the apology would mean nothing in the end. And so she simply silently stands at his side, solemn sympathy in his storm.
NOTHING'S EVER LOST FOREVER, IT'S JUST HIDING IN THE RECESS OF YOUR MIND AND WHEN YOU NEED IT, IT WILL COME TO YOU AT NIGHT. I MISS THE YELLOW. I MISS THE YELLING AND THE SHAKEDOWN. I'M NOT COMPLAINING, NO, I GOT A BETTER SET OF KNIVES NOW. I MISS MY DRUMMER, MY DEAD STEPBROTHER, AND THE PIT CROWD. AND CHUCK AND MATTY - IF THEY COULD SEE ME THEY'D BE SO PROUD.