this soul of mine will never break ❁ return

[Margaery]

[color=#b14767] ❁  ❁  ❁

[color=#b14767]"Pele!"

Her exclamation was soft, tender, chocolate-hued forelegs immediately wrapping around the smaller girl as she tackled her in an embrace. Margaery would relish momentarily in the feeling of physical contact, realizing that the three days in which she had existed solely as a corporeal entity had succeeded in making her long for touch. This hug, as simple as it was, managed to convince the chocolate point that this was indeed reality. That she was alive. It wasn't as if she didn't trust Selene - no, she actually had quite the bit of faith placed in the Goddess - but some doubtful part of her had still questioned the legitimacy of all of this. For all Margaery knew, this could just be some twisted aspect of her own, personal hell.

The moment that Cooper collapsed, Margaery pulled herself away from Pele and moved to help him, concern flashing within stormy gray eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, to ask about his well being, but found herself suddenly transfixed by the names of her children. Of the leeches. [color=#b14767]"My sweet babies..." She whispered mostly to herself, [color=#b14767]"Oh my goodness." Despite the fact that she had promised she wouldn't cry, she felt tears well in her eyes, threatening to spill over her cheeks at any moment. A few did as Cooper confirmed that Suiteheart was in her room and then... all she could feel was agony.

It was the bond reigniting, she knew that. But still, all of Suiteheart's pain and suffering overwhelmed her so completely that she staggered under the weight of it all. She saw her own, lifeless form, saw - felt - how crushed Suiteheart had been... God, it was too much. It was too much. [color=#000000]"It's okay," That divine voice whispered to her, [color=#000000]"Calm yourself, Maarit. You're about to give into the monster." Maybe she wanted to give into the monster. Maybe the monster would make her feel better... would erase the suffering that she had inflicted on her wife. On everyone really. One eye was copper, one eye was gray. A new development; an indication of her turmoil. She permitted her claws to escape their sheathes and sink into the soft ground underfoot, the only thing that was really grounding her until Suiteheart touched her. Hugged her.

For a moment, Margaery was still. She was teetering on the edge of darkness, about to succumb to her beast and show her clanmates what she truly was. And then, she calmed. Her heart, which had been racing, returned to its slow thud, her mismatched eyes slowly righting themselves until they were once more stormy blue. [color=#b14767]"Vivus sum," She echoed, [color=#b14767]"Vivus sum." She didn't realize that she had been sobbing in front of everyone, her cool (albeit excited) composure having completely shattered. She felt whole again though, shaky and hurt and a little broken but whole.

[color=#000000]"Truly your father's daughter," Selene observed from the depths of her mind, not even coaxing a grimace from Margaery. She couldn't tell if the comment was a compliment or an insult and chose to simply ignore it, instead looking towards Bast and Luna. While only three days had passed, Margaery still expected something that wasn't Bastilleprisoner's general apathy. Was she selfish to have wanted a reaction? Something laced with emotion? Care? Maybe. But she was too busy just enjoying the sight of him again to truly think of anything else. [color=#b14767]"Bast..." She whispered, [color=#b14767]"Hello, love." At least she had found her English tongue again- in her moment of panic, Latin had been the only thing she could bring to mind to express herself. [color=#b14767]"Luna, darling," She greeted, turning away from the Seraph to look at the corporal, [color=#b14767]"Hello to you too."

( vivus sum - i'm alive )

[★ HAZEL]

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★  WHEN MY HEART IS MADE FROM GOLD AND FORGIVENESS SEEMS TOO BOLD

Hazel was...exhausted.

It had been three days since Margaery died; three days since Hazel had watched the chocolate point’s body get lowered into the ground. In that moment, the girl had so wholly felt the cold draft of death and lifelessness waft from her friend’s body that she had to sit down or risk collapse. Three days of draining guilt.

It had been two days since her panic attack. Two days since she broke for the second time, coming completely unglued and letting it get the better of her. In front of people, no less. In front of Bastille and Suite, who undoubtedly thought she was pathetic and incapable of just about everything at this point.

Two days since she had talked to the girl in her mindscape, discovering that she could very easily pick out Hazel’s biggest insecurities and exploit them until Hazel cracked and broke. Two days of going without sleep, knowing that when she closed her eyes, promised nightmares would flash behind her eyelids and she’d wake up screaming, breathing hard and soaked in sweat. Two days of forced social interaction and trying to ignore the open gateway in her head, knowing it was attached to Bastille and knowing he could peer into her mind much easier than she could and letting that frustration simmer under her bones.

Two days of dread and anxiety, fearing she might have to live like this for months before it could possibly get better.

One day since she had accepted this fate, deeming it better than what was waiting for her outside of the Ascendants.

It took effort to drag herself out to the group, it really did; she might’ve looked alright from afar: trotting at a steady pace with tail lifted in feigned interest - but up close, the exhaustion was evident in her dull eyes and lack of luster in her aura. Nevertheless, she followed the crowd obediently, having convinced herself that keeping up appearances was the only thing that would keep away suspicion.

She expected another joiner, but what she got was...so, so much better.

“Margy?” Hazel managed, shock rippling full force. “I’m - how are you -“ So many questions, so many questions; why wasn’t she dead? How did she come back? If she could come back, why did she leave in the first place? Where had the lingering traces of death that clung to her pelt go?

“Qui revera non est?” She choked out, the Latin falling off her tongue like it did so naturally when she was around Margaery. Because Margy couldn’t really be here, couldn’t really be back. This was different than Bastille’s stunt! This hadn’t been a minute and a half - this was three days! Hazel’s heart and state of exhaustion couldn’t take this much more.

“You guys can not keep doing this,” She huffed, eyes wet and bleary. “I can’t take it if you keep leaving.” She kept her gaze zeroed in on Margaery, worried that if she looked somewhere else, she would disappear. But the feeling of distress undoubtedly traveled along the line Bastille, pointing a metaphorical finger at his chest. 

(Quia revera non est? - is that really you?)

★ — hazel — "speech" — eight months — the ascendants — tags — ★

[sup]c) miithers[/sup]