sky. district four. }} fin

my bones were made here,
in the crashing waves
and the valleys of pale sand
and the chaos
of the ocean-kissed wind.

i was born by the seaside
where the sun bleeds
onto my skin.
it drenches me,
paints my fair skin pale gold.
it dapples faint freckles
across my back
and my shoulders
and my arms.

my hair,
bathed in the ocean,
clings
to my face
in dark curtains
on those days
that seem endless,
where i sit in the sand
after a swim
and watch the sun die beneath the surface.
the smell of the sea
fills my senses
and drenches my skin.

there's imprints in the sand,
made by my feet and my hands.
i would pad along the beach
and trace pictures
with my fingers.

it is tranquil here;
it is something
of a dream.

i bathe myself in silence
but i am chaos.

my mother had a death sentence
written on her flesh;
there was a bounty
on her head.

i don't know
how her skin didn't tear
against the stare
of her own wanted poster.
i don't know
how her neck didn't break
beneath the weight
of the words
"dead or alive."

she took my bones
and broke them
and melded their ruins
with steel.

she proclaimed me her heir
and raised me
with a crown too heavy
for my head.

my mother was a pirate,
a thief,
a liar,
a cheater,
a murderer.

she tucked me away
into my father's house
and sailed away on her ship.
i never knew
what exactly she was doing.
all i knew
was the distance between she and my father
and the wanted posters
and the men who came to question us.

she stopped dropping by
to train me,
to teach me the ways- her ways-
of a pirate,
after they began looking for her.

my mother vanished
into thin air.
there are whispers
that they executed her.
there are whispers
that she was swept away
by a storm.

all we know-
all i know-
is the empty space she left
behind.

"tell me a story, sky."

(i've always been gifted
at telling stories;
i've always been gifted
at telling lies.)

"okay.
there was-"

"no, you have to start it
with 'once upon a time', remember?"

"once upon a time,
there was a little princess
with a little heart
and little hands.

and in that little heart,
there was room for only her mother.
and in those little hands,
she held the world.

when she was born,
her bones were made of glass
and her skin was made of paper.
but her mother,
the queen of the ocean,
would not allow her heir
to be so breakable
and frail.

so the queen
took her bones
and broke them
and melded their ruins
with steel.

she ripped the little princess open
and placed stone at her core.
she tore through her chest
and blew out the fire in her heart
like it was nothing more
than a little flame
dancing on a little candle.
in the ashes,
she planted ice
with her fingertips.

but the princess
was not meant
for the throne.

and one day,
her mother left
on one of her journeys.
she stayed with her father,
the king.
but her mother never returned;
she was taken away
by the darkness.

they never found her again."

"wasn't there a prince
or princess charming?"

"not in this story."

"but what about the happy ending?"

"not every story
has a happy ending.
but this one isn't happy
or sad.
the princess grieved
for a while
but she's alright now-"

(isn't she?)

"-the queen was cruel,
but now she is free of that.

now,
go to sleep.
goodnight."

"goodnight."