aran griswald, district seven | finished [cb]

"Forests have secrets," he said gently.
"It's practically what they're for.
To hide things. To separate one world from another."
― Catherynne M. Valente, Deathless

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A crown of thorns and a throne of dead trees, he calls himself the 'Witch of the Woods.' Black cloaks and howling cats, he's a disaster. An infection that festers across all the places where his fingertips touch. But even death can be gentle; merciful and forgiving, a lullaby whistling softly in the distance. It is life that takes and destroys, screaming at the top of its lungs as lightning scorches the earth with every hiss and strike. Give him disease and give him the night, he'll always choose rot over flowers. Let him have eternity. Fleeting things are only faint scratches on his timeline. They'll never be worth his attention. He wants to be the undoing of a man. If something must break, then let it be beyond repair.

Spoiled and lost, call him 'Labyrinth.' He's desperate for love, so he's learned how to kiss his reflection and keep it secret. He doesn't notice the stains his lips leave, but he hopes someday for another to know. A father and mother covering their eyes six-feet beneath the dirt, he's carrying the weight of a legacy on his back. He craves silence, but the thought of being alone terrifies him. He's not sure what being a Griswald truly means, just an empire made from felled lumber and a lonely manor on the top of a hill, but he'll learn to define it. Someday, somehow; in his own image and with his own crest. Because for as much as the shadows comfort him, there's still an itch to let light rest in the palm of his hand. To be burned by someone purer than himself.

If he has to waste his life being the head of a dead family,
then let him expand the graveyard.
Let him build a cemetery in his own name.

He'll hold something holy in his hands and he'll give it his heart,
and then he'll cage it. A selfish, stubborn love.
He'll come to know what melody birds sing when they fall to the ground.

Swan song;
and all the curtains close.