oliver finch {district two} cb | fin

Topaz blue eyes never rest and neither do fair, nimble hands, one gripping a pen and the other knotted in a styled mass of brown hair. Aches run up and down stiff fingers pressed into a fountain pen, but stopping is no option for a boy like Oliver Finch - intelligent and ruthless in academic competition. On his tongue is silence, a heavy stone, but in his mind are ideas ricocheting into each other, words colliding and fitting together too quickly - he can't seem get all the stories, all the beautiful stories, out fast enough.

There is no room for failure in his prestigious school, or in his grand mansion run by tyrannical parents with patronizing, lashing tongues against a fragile boy too shy, too kind, to pick up a sword.

"Speak up, dammit," his father would growl. "Stop mumbling, Oliver. Mumbling makes you look shy."

"What's wrong with being shy?"

"Everything."

And he'll say to himself,

Don't let it get to you, Oliver.

But such sharp blades are no match for a frail thought from a fragile boy -

too soft, too gentle.

("Not good career material.")

may our stories catch fire and burn

bright enough to catch god's eye

❧

{ table: zoë }