{Tremble} For Yourself | Elegant

.// mara gabrielle de avila



You're not as brave as you were at the start
Rate Yourself and rake yourself
Take all the courage you have left
Wasted on fixing all the problems
That you made in your head

I am in a world made from nothing but beauty.

Her fingers danced on the family of keys, ivory and ebony each with a voice of their own, each with a song to sing. They sang a melody so sweet, they sang a melody so filled to the brim with nothing but happiness and sunshine that it paved a new passageway to a place of contentment. It cut through the fabric of time and reality, gone far off from the dark land of glittering stars and the burning sun. Her dainty feet made their way on a cobbled path of yellow bricks, lined with yawning flower buds and growing trees. They made light-footed steps that she hoped didn't scare the blue birds away, but their blood-red footprints did. Nevertheless, there were delightful butterflies and speckled rabbits to ponder on, trees to estimate age and length, anything to keep her balled fists from permanently wrinkling her white-washed dress that gently fluttered along her bleeding knees.

Just anything to keep her mind off the silent hurricane following her, and the devastating wake that left everything into shambles with every step she took.

Replacing blood, electricity flowed in her bloodstream and burned her veins to a crisp. With a shudder, her hands froze and her recent symphony (a near-lullaby consisted of the softest decrescendos that filled the room with the hallucination of a gentle nymph's sweet voice guiding your heavy eyelids to close slowly...) was abruptly cut off to an indecent halt of too-heavy fingertips smashing the piano's own. In a snap, the entrancing siren's song was done, throat caught in the momentum of battered wood and worn sails crashing against the boulders that line the shallow shore, caught in the phantasmagoria of crash, split, break happening all too fast, a jagged piece lodging into her larynx and with a gasp ―

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A sudden rush of heat on her shoulder ― a foreign action in this scene of devastation ― something quite unlikely when her whole body was still cold and engulfed in the river of subconsciousness. It spits her out, and sends her back tumbling through the tunnel of time, sucking her in again, away from the land of her beliefs and terrifying dreams, and into her reality.

"Mara?"

The youngest de Avila turns to look at the gentle hand perched on her shoulder, and immediately her sky-colored eyes travel to meet a cloudier pair that mirrors her own, except for the indefinite splashes of green among the duller blue. It was as though a thick fog was surrounding them, that despite her sharp words and laidback movement, made me wonder whether Anastasia was getting enough sleep. Or perhaps, child, something more.

"What's wrong?" The invisible quiver that was draped all over her two short words was present in the tension that knitted the eldest sister's two eyebrows together. Her eyes, however, were large and searching. Whatever mist there was, she used it to her own advantage as the compassionate yet stern stare dug right into Mara, upturning the deep quarantines of her heart and mind.

And that, made the tiny flame in Mara's heart flicker.

It's okay. There's nothing wrong. I'm fine, see? No scars, no burns, no scratches. I'm not hurt, I'm okay, everything's okay. She wanted to plead a thousand words, just to get away from whatever smothering she was going to receive. As much as that to say, there was only one thing her mind was screaming, loud and clear among the reassurances wanting to be voiced out. Anastasia, I'm no longer a ―

Whoever said actions speak louder than words was a liar ― and liars go to Hell where they burn and cry a million prayers as they repent for their sin, don't they, Mommy? ― and with a composed smile that whispered, "I'm okay," Mara received another questioning look. "I'm okay, Anastasia. I just got... distracted, that's all." But under the limelight, there was never time to stop and think. You move, move, move and with your dance you try and forget that yes, fidgeting actions do speak louder than your lying words.

It takes a moment for Anastasia, with another quick search to try and find (and burn)[/color] whatever may be bothering you, and finally finding nothing, relaxes. She gives you a warm lopsided smile that meant so much more than what she could ever put into words. But that's okay. There was one language that the three of you speak, and although Ana strongly believes that she has forgotten it and had it buried under swift swipes of her axe, she doesn't. Music will forever be in her mind, in her soul, in her heart.

Savannah was a living proof of that (Mara and Anastasia were, too, if only they had the courage to show the world their craft)[/color], and while Mara's own treasured compositions have never seen the light of the outside world (or rather, have ever reached the ears of anyone outside the walls of the de Avila home, just like how Anastasia's fingers were secretly craving to touch once again the delicate strings of her violin, layers of dust accumulating over time and over the used-to-be-gleaming wood)[/color] the de Avila's second daughter's work and the creator too[/color] has been fawned over numerous gaping audiences and has been receiving more applause than jealous glares.

Mara took one step down the marble stairs, a step away from the large double door entrance and a step nearer the gates, but stopped short when the music coming from Savannah's guitar stopped. She turned to look at her sister, who was sitting on a dark wooden bench in the well-tended garden of blooming flowers and lush greenery, sunlight bouncing off the dew on the grass blades and off of Savannah's curls. "Hey," she offered a smile, cherub lips curling upwards. They parted open, and Mara had to suppress a sigh after successfully predicting what she was going to say next. "Where are you heading off to?"

In response, she waved and jutted her chin towards the gate, "Oh, just at the park."

"Alright." It was Anastasia all over again, the same worrying look that could never be cleverly hidden under false actions of approval for just a simple walk to the District park. With a satisfied smile of gratitude (which she was sure Savannah didn't even saw, for she immediately turned her attention back to her guitar)[/color], she walked to the gate, closing it with doubt tugging at her, wondering whether she had imagined a voice that whispered, "Be careful."

The park was silent, an air of tranquility surrounding it despite the pair of joggers that passed by her and the occasional tree-dwelling animal that crossed her path every now and then. Finally, she reached her spot, a bench quite similar to the one found in their garden. Mara sat, consciously patting her skirt flat and tugging it at her knees before finally resting it at her sides only to find her fingers curling underneath and gripping the bench. She gave a surrendering sigh, and lifted her face to the sunlight crawling in the spaces between the leaves.

Maybe hoping for the light to wash away the darkness slowly growing inside of her?



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