soul survivor ♔ [ diana vs ronan, day seven ] Apr 16, 2019 16:58:58 GMT -5
Post by D7f Diana Sayers [azalea] on Apr 16, 2019 16:58:58 GMT -5
I go over the word in my head a hundred times. Killer clown, killer queen—what if that is all they can see me as? Someone who became a person who was just like the rest? I had sworn that the impossible could be made possible, become the last man standing through intelligence and through opening arms instead of pulling a blade. I had wanted to survive through the most peaceful means, to raise a heart against a fist and withstand time through the careful crafting of my own sanity.
It is a fragile line. And when you walk such a fragile thing with the eyes of the world on you, slipping can become so simple. A flinch is all it takes for something to catch you off-guard, for the darkness to throw a stone at your glass statuette and then perform a dance with the shadows around your pieces. I do not think I am broken; there's still the same love in my heart that I have felt all along and perhaps it is the only thing keeping me grounded when the underworld calls directly to my head, screaming at me to give in and accept these games for what they are.
Carefully, I am holding myself together. Through justification and through the scribbles to myself and a distant sponsor in my diary, I am managing to cope with the consequences of taking a life. Even thinking that it is possible for one's own life to go own after so cruelly taking another—there's something odd about it. There's something that removes the shine from my jewels about it, turning the bright to something dull and discreet. A glisten morphs into a glint, and such glint morphs into a grey.
I feel myself turning such grey. A stain on the memory is perhaps not enough to pay for someone else's life, perhaps it requires a person to give up their colour too. The things people give up for the ghosts they create—an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, but it is more, for loss for have our own loss.
Francisco Bloom's face in the sky makes me feel colder than ever. I make eye contact, and I feel a connection as if he is here in the flesh staring right back at me. It is magnetic, cosmic and though the starless sky aligns in such a tragic way, tonight, his eyes are planets of his own solar system. I feel the energy of the entire universe when I stare at him, and I do not dare to break it. It's a low energy, melancholy, the same grey which I feel I am turning. Yet, a part of me feels tranquility when I look at him, as if, perhaps, it really is mercy to return a person to the stars to which they belong.
I still whisper for forgiveness. Prayer is one of the only things I can fall back on, and now that we have come to the point where Hisidro has to go it alone, where I am truly forced to hold myself in my own arms, my pleas are more important than ever. I can rely on love, but it's strength has proved itself strong enough to shake my soul. I fall onto that and feel the ache because it is a sharp thing, a blade of its own creation. Maybe prayer is a waste of time; I do not know if anything is listening, but when the world is watching, an action often speaks louder than words.
The rain from above feels appropriate. The darkness I have always seen in this world is finally showing itself. It does not hide through the air, nor the shadows, but rather steps out proud of its tragedies like they are triumphs. When lightning strikes, it is like love is trying to break through the bleak skies to remind us of who we were before any of this begun. A first strike for the second names were called and volunteers made the first move, a second for the defining moments in our lives: the happy memories and the ones of heartbreak. The third is for now; for the resurgence of love within.
A wholesome heart, a flicker of a candle in a bitter wind. A candle, all alone in the darkness, but still a glimmer of the light that could be.
I think of home.
The skies cry to stop the clown's for showing her tears. Home seems so distant and close all at once; Seven's love was what came back to me yesterday, what made me commit something beyond my own ability. Beaten but not broken, the girl from Seven still standing despite shadows singeing my edges, burning at the heart but never at the body. Their hope is what I cling so dearly to, as if I am the mother to their child, I am the lullaby to keep nightmares at bay. The strength of their love proved they need something, someone, more so now than ever before.
I know that I am different to Mackenzie Pryce, I am a far cry from both Lex and Angel. I am a free spirit, leading with the heart despite being told it will do no good, but still trusting the safety of it. Still, as ever before, being safe in the knowledge that an echo will bounce back.
The ground sinks beneath my footsteps, threatening to swallow me and take me to the underworld. I imagined there was no more room in hell after the beast of bones walked the earth, but it could be that the creature was too big. Maybe they only have a small girl sized space, perfect for a girl like me who would fit like a headstone amongst tombs. I do not want to go to either afterlife—the word alone makes me realise what would have to happen for me to end up at such a place, and I refuse to have come this far for nothing.
I may be a killer, but I am still me.
The sun carves its way through the darkness, a gentle warmth on my skin to remind me that the light does come, that no storm lasts forever. But with the sun comes new problems; no longer worrying about the rain causing a cold, but rather the sun setting a scene of battle. Sun means shadows, and shadows in this place cannot be trusted. Not since they are the ones that signalled the start of Berlin's fall, not when they danced on when life was in pieces beneath the big top.
I look to the horizon and see a silhouette; I already know what this means for the day. I have seen the games on television, I know how this works—I pray that the figure is not Hisidro. I pray for anyone but him, because it would feel wrong to unpick a stitch that knit us so close. I know how this works and I know that I am a killer now, both a killer clown and killer queen who has to learn it is okay to let go of a few of the good to save many of the great.
We draw ourselves towards each other, and I can barely look when the face becomes one with the light. It is not Hisidro, to my relief, but still, Ronan Keeni-Einfallen's life is still a life. And I know I should not even be thinking the things that run wild through my mind; it is barbaric and this violence is far bigger than anything I had ever envisioned when I became Lenox Lachance's saviour. Yet there is no denying it, not in situations as such, not when I have to turn the world on its head for the sake of my own heart.
"People joke about six being afraid of seven all the time," I say, the painted smile on my face cracking under the sun. "I am Seven." I have taken a life, now, and that is quite scary. But I have not become like the rest, I am no monster; I still feel the pain, the ache of my heart. My heart keeps me human, I know so, but the world sees me as a killer. There is blood on my hands. "You are Six." I pause.
Before him stands a clown princess—a killer clown, a killer queen.
"Six, are you afraid of Seven?"
[ diana attacks ronan; spiked blunt ]spiked blunt
[ 14078 -- deep gash on right forearm -- 8.0 damage +1 strength ]
[ 14078 -- deep gash on right forearm -- 8.0 damage +1 strength ]