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in their place, flowers grow. { a collection of lyana }
Jan 31, 2016 1:12:38 GMT -5
Post by [ retro gm ] angel lí ✨ on Jan 31, 2016 1:12:38 GMT -5
this is not your destruction. |
They have forgotten her, sister of the once great Klaus Goravich, as they have forgotten him.
(She will never forget Marina. Not ever.)
She finds his absence in their poisoned minds comforting. Perhaps he will find solace away from her, away from them, away from everyone except his children and his own thoughts.
(His own thoughts drove him away from them once. And Marina's own thoughts drove her to her grave.)
Lyana picks herself out of the rubble Marina left behind.
Slowly. Surely.
Her sister's memory never leaves her. Always fastened to her heart as a burden and a blessing. A reminder of her loss, a reminder of her strength. A reminder that when the day ends and a new one begins and years slowly pass, wounds heal.
Scars stay, of course, and some days they burn like they're being ripped open and stitched up all over again. Lyana just picks herself off of the floor and puts herself back together, piece by piece, day by day, until the pieces are missing, or lost, or have simply vanished.
(They don't fit anymore. Nothing does.)
She is something.
Twenty-something.
Lyana Something.
She is something of her own creation. Something she constructs with her bare hands. Not Klaus. Not the Capitol. Not anyone else.
She is Lyana and she is reborn to her own liking, painting over a girl with sad eyes and a broken heart and empty spaces where flowers once grew.
Standing on feet adorned with socks every colour of the rainbow (for Marina, she thinks with an ache in her heart), she picks up her paintbrush and smiles.
She begins with the letter L.
. . .
[credit - briar]
[credit - briar]
