burning the portrait of him ❁ elias&haze

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It's a funny thing. Even those who don't seek god fear the devil, as if evil as a whole is more powerful. 

Silence settles over the room as Ines leaves, a girl not unlike herself. Surprising in a way, how much deeper blood must run than she thought. They're kind people, the Izars, and a bit of her regrets every doubting that. It could just be the moment but there's a seed of hope somewhere in her chest, sprouting in the faintest ray of light she's found - I'm not alone. Not entirely, even as the room clears out and they prepare for the next visitor. The cycle continues and with each pass she chips away at the fears clawing at her back. 

The ukulele sits on the desk like an offering and she can't help but run her fingers across the strings inquisitively, curious in the way it sounds. She didn't even think to request anything, but it brightens her to have something so familiar with her no matter what. In the worst of storms, she and her abuela would sit on the tile floor of the bathroom, lit with candles and drowning out the battering of their villa with the tolling of innocent melodies. Whimsical in the way nothing they made mattered, or even had to sound decent, all that mattered was that it made things easier. 

To her, that's a blessing, and what comes next, a curse. 

One that follows her insidiously, "no," she speaks it as a ward. "No fucking way," her mother always described him as clever as the devil and twice as pretty, but when she sees Elias Izar all she feels is a deep purple rage. It starts in her fists and spreads to her cheeks and knees, an anger so ferocious a fifteen year old girl can hardly contain it. Violent thoughts come to her like a new guest but she doesn't know where to punch first, all she has is the want to burden him with how she feels. 

How she's felt for years, "¡gilipollas¹! Que to jodan², tonto del curo³- you don't get to be here!" She yells, barking up loud enough to mask the missing of her bite. She hopes her mother hears it all, "you had my whole life to have this moment and now you decide to show up?" Haizea dreams of smashing the ukulele across his giant head, but she wouldn't dare disrespect Mateo by letting him come in contact with it. 

For a second she heaves heavy breaths, nostrils flaring as she lets it out for once. Damn you, her mother's biggest mistake. 

"I hope you know I'll always hate you," she spits, almost feeling grateful that he came after all so she can finally admit it. 

"Hijo del Diablo⁴," address him by name, do not fear the pitchfork.

---

words her abuela taught her: 
¹ - bastard
² - fuck you
³ - dumbass
⁴ - son of the devil