Learna Antiopa Libertine -- District Four

.// learna antiopa libertine

.// details

NAME -- [ Learna {ler-NUH} Antiopa Libertine ]
NICKNAME -- [ Lern ; The Voice and Eyes of the Dead ]
AGE -- [ Thirteen ]
GENDER -- [ It depends on who's using me Female ]
DISTRICT/AREA -- [ The Underworld District Four ]

.// history

I remember the time when I used to be the only one inside my body. When I was assured that every thought was my own, and that every action I made owed up to a motive that was completely for myself and not for anyone else.

[/color] There was no reassurance resting at the back of my mind in the first place, back when I was an ignorant little girl who embraced the occasional bump and bruise that decorated my skin. No imaginary world gathered me up in its arms and tossed me to the sky where I could fantasize about growing wings and flying with the wisps of clouds passing through my arms, outstretched against the clear blue sky that was sadistically happy for such a sad terrain below.[/color][/s] I don't think that way, especially when I see the world pin-point direct, the way nothing in my family ever sugarcoats the bitter truths of life ― or at least, I thought so.

And now it seems like a lifetime has passed. Or rather, lifetimes. The memories of myself running into the care ― or lack thereof ―[/color] of reckless abandon, taking physical form in jagged rocks that I perched my diminutive figure upon, with salty hungry waves scarcely licking the worn soles of my footwear, rushing up to them to climb what they never could; it was all now a haze, a vision too blurry to make out the details that it's almost impossible to remember the feeling. But in this in otherworld where I'm in, I'm only peering through the thick fog that encloses whatever I wanted to see ― or is it all around me? It's become impossible to know the difference between the smokey silhouettes that has received Death's kiss and the condensing thick air ― like a citizen forced to see the unfurling of skin, bones and blood broadcasted through his static-clouded television, or perhaps a soul thrust inside another body,[/color] whatever memory the mind held an unclear dream because it doesn't belong to them, but how come it's blurry through my own eyes?

My past wouldn't be something that I would describe as whole, when the fabric of my memory was only a piece of thin gauze that held no protection or strength whatsoever against the blinding brightness that I was heading for,[/color] my body being flung at the unknown at a vision-searing, skin-ripping speed that I was certain was only the work of the ethereal creatures that whisper my name with every second they spend in my wake.

Learna, my ―[/color]

The sudden appearance of light was too much to bear with irises that have long adjusted to flit towards whatever movement too fast and bright ― and now I have broken a sacred dam with my own childish stubbornness and let out a flood set ablaze with the essence of enlightenment too much for someone as young as I am ― may it be a quick swash of small illumination against the ink-black curtain of darkness that was surrounding me. Call it a sign, call it a cautionary mark that could have served as a warning as if to say don't go any farther, you'll fall into a ― But I took it differently. It was a reason to get out, finally something to guide me into a comprehensible path among this sea of oddities and everything misshapen into a figure so out of this world that it had turned my reality into something quite out of touch with the norm.[/color]

It plummeted even farther, far from the earth and into the heavens, past it and into the never-ending cosmic wonder of the celestial beings and back, rocketing far under the land where our soles touch and into the realm of the dead ―

Learna, listen to ―

Call it a sign, call it a cautionary mark ― perhaps even a soul cupped as a tiny circle. When you've got nothing else all around you except the debris of something you were so sure was something so valuable and precious, only to end in a clatter of ruins that went on for miles and miles. But you were young, and a foolish one at that. In the area of the aftermath of disaster's hurricane, you create a playpen out of it, but the subversion of what was left was so far from the pretend house of the children your age. But whoever was up there had bigger plans ― and big indeed they are, as they seep out of every crevices in the human body, another proof that mortality was far too closed up in a box to ever receive (or perhaps even just understand) something so complicated such as the dead refusing to leave the earth when they've got unfinished business to attend ― for you, a girl so frustratingly blind and oblivious to the remnants of what used to be such a functional family. I was selfish in that way, and with the help of an ironic twist by the ever-so-humorous fate, was thrust with what would drive anyone in the sane mind running to the side of anyone holy, or off of a cliff.

Listen to the wind, child.

The sun had gone and hid himself behind the sea, and with his descend below the horizon where his dying rays kissed the ocean line, took his own spilled blood that tainted the blue skies with the hushed harmony of a pale pink flower's breath and the soft brilliance of a firefly's glow ― and it was anything but peaceful to me. There was no placidity in what was unfolding right before my very eyes, no tranquility in the way different colors blended clashed and twisted grabbed at each other. It wasn't the sun's soft whisper as a final token as he finally lays down to rest; it was a battle cry for the hours spent tearing away pieces of himself for others (one for you, one for you, and ― now whoever said I wasn't shameless?). The everlasting stretch of burnt orange reached out to me, and no matter how much I try and touch what may be the last of him, the purple bruises cloud him and dusk falls in front of my path.

Another day, another chance for the sun to live and die again.

There was no need to rush: I didn't open the door to be greeted with welcoming arms ready to embrace me, but instead of a mother who could might as well scratch the youthfulness out of my skin and feed it to her dying one (her skin, I mean, not my father who was transported in a world far away from ours ― and mine ― and could barely flutter his tired eyes open), and siblings who was their own rendition of greed (identities and souls for favors, fires to burn the pictures and the water drowning you from inside out, pleasure in the fleshed-out hourglass form, and the world). Same old, same old.

But the wind begged to differ. As it confided in my ear, it murmured on how it was gonna change me.

For the better?

It was the wind. I just knew it. It was the wind that creeped in and opened the door for me (if I only I had knew better, that it wasn't just my room that I was entering, but another realm in their eyes ― it was basically a lobby and I went inside with a neon sign over my head that said, "free host!"), it was the wind that pushed my drapes open and let the cold breeze in. Yes, it was the wind, and nothing else.

Or for the worse?[/i]
[/color][/justify][/blockquote]

I have been told countless times on how I look older than what I was supposed to look like. And I have run out of fingers to count on how many times I have silently gritted my teeth, blinking lazily with disinterest heavy in my lashes, trying so much to lengthen whatever glorious minuscule drop of patience that has been given to me and pressing my lips against my teeth to prevent my tongue from releasing sharp words, let alone my breath from seeping out. Despite the underlying indifference that is forever underneath my actions towards them, if not added with a sprinkle of hostility, the meaning is a haze. Youth may be the primary reason why they chose me, but weren't the scabs enough to hide whatever brilliance of adolescence there was?

The voices of my neighbors and relatives ― well, once they got close enough, seeing how the peculiarity of my family drives them away. Either way, I am untouchable in a way Kraken will never be, a thousand spirits forming a barrier to shield me from the temptations of this mortal world ―

[/color] forever will ring loud and clear inside my head (but never enough to block out the needing voices of the souls of bodies long gone)[/color], commenting on how I have grew so quickly. And for once, a knowing smile slowly shows itself on my sea-salt breeze-bitten lips, chapped and in the shade of coral starfishes and seashells that lay untouched ― are they dead? ― on the ocean shore.

In contrast, the flame resting on top of my head was far from Death's grip. It wasn't stick-straight as those fishing rods that I had once used to fulfill a long-gone child's desire to catch those flying fishes (which, in the end, granted me a less-than-noticeable mark on my pale cheek, earning an unfavorable tsk tsk from a certain spirit who wanted to be beautiful for once), but with faint waves that cascades into a curtain of fizz over my chest, together with a few pieces quite longer. A proper haircut was never an option in our household, with blunt shears or sharp rocks ready at your disposal once it was too much of a liability already, and when they give a shriek of protest of 'no! Don't cut your hair!' that never made sense to me, but who was I to protest? Sometimes, I find myself picking up random trinkets found ashore, and weaving pieces of seaweed into my hair ― unconsciously, mind you. Most of the things that I tend to do weren't from my own will, and I find that very hard to explain to everyone around me. The dying green of the ocean was very much like my own eyes. Learna, dear, don't describe yourself as dying. On the contrary, you're teeming with life: don't you see that little light among the sea of shadows?[/color][/color][/justify][/blockquote]

I'm irrational.

I'm blunt, harsh, and cold to boot. That how they see me, and frankly I don't even care. But if they had bothered to stop and ask me what I really was like underneath that facade of marble (and even more stone and perhaps ice), I would say... nothing. It's not that simple, you see. Once you're the gatekeeper and the body of unrested souls that roam the earth, you're expected to keep your mouth shut. This was otherworldly business we're talking about, something so much deeper and much important that our President's tyranny pales in comparison. This was life and my death, and Learna, they wouldn't understand us. Even you, too, love ―

They wouldn't understand you.

[/color][/color][/justify][/blockquote]

.// others

CODEWORD -- [ Odair ]

FACECLAIM -- [ THIS IS CENSORED BECAUSE OF REASONS ]

NARRATION -- [ 335557 ]
EMPHASIS -- [ 376D70 ]
SPEAKING -- [ 9E876F ]
OTHERS SPEAKING -- [ 7A655E ]
THOUGHTS -- [ 5D6663 ]

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