perihelion. {sunrise iv} | for hannah

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я𝑜𝓈𝑒
Mentor

2,890 POSTS

Pronouns: she/her/they/them
last seen Nov 23, 2023 2:34:11 GMT -5

anyway don't be a stranger

perihelion. {sunrise iv} | for hannah Oct 20, 2015 20:00:13 GMT -5

Quote

Post by я𝑜𝓈𝑒 on Oct 20, 2015 20:00:13 GMT -5

☾

sleep now under my skin, make sure you'll try
to conjure the wind and ease my mind
somebody call out to your brother
he's calling out your name

Oblivion, she saw you rolling down the hills years prior, she saw your blackness hissing along her veins in the youth of her terrors. She trudged her way through her labyrinth and collapsed into the cradle of your arms in the night; you swung her through the swooning onyx wonderlands of her nightmares, you ~~drowned~~ baptized her in the luminous waters of the argentate moon, you kissed her goodnight with poison between your teeth and lies searing your lips.

You pushed her on the old, tarnished swing set with steady hands. Creeeeeak, and she was flying, but you always ripped her from the arms of the sky by the feathers with the chains of gravity, wound so tightly around your hands, bleached pale like snow from your iron grip, for you declared her soul as yours.

It was you who guided her shaking hand along sidewalk, littered with chalk drawings and dreams. It was you who spilled "Hannah O'Leary!" all over the District Square, your words dark red wine on a tablecloth of snow. It was you who clutched her trembling hand once more as you led her stone shell to the stage. Her body was a crumbling legion beneath the glare of the morning sun, for in its light, she felt not warmth, but the coldness of President Snow's serpentine eyes claiming her for the arena. The gentle hands of a sunrise had never been dreaded so - winds had never become the claws of howling wolves, snarling clouds had never become the harbinger of her own hurricane, and the sky had never become a landslide of concrete rubble tumbling onto her shoulders.

("Do not fret for me, Cody Bowers-Fox, for my shoulders of those of Atlas and hollow is my old friend."

But no shoulders can bear the weight of a massacre.)

You found that a single slip of paper is more deadly than a blade you or Cody Bowers-Fox could wield. You built this arena yourself and crucified her upon her own fear, nailed her wrists and ankles into a cross too cold for a blazing girl. It was you who shattered the sky with Thor's hammer, it was you who spun your twisted lies into her ears and forced her to believe that she was just as broken. It was you behind the end of the axe, tearing open her chest and harvesting the blood you so adamantly lusted for.

Planting the seed of rot within her heart and slicing her open from the inside and out was not enough agony for you, no, you must have her crushed in your palm - cold, cold ash. Her screams, you declared, must be carved into your eardrums. Her tears, you declared, must be painted upon your cruel fingertips.

You drowned her in a sea of tar, set her lungs on fire from stolen air. You thrust her into the snarling, lupine winds of a hurricane and left her at the mercy of lightning's swords.

You tried to ignite her with flames, bathed her in gasoline and held a match to her skin. But you never knew you could not set a blazing girl with kerosene blood ablaze, only feed her more fire.

You have laid her upon this ground, this earth made by the dust of old bones and dried blood. You longed to see her broken, bruised body writhe in anguish, but the pain guides her hand along, steadies her rather than devouring her flames with its breath of an arctic sea. Pain is the crackle in her fire, the whispers of an old friend.

Take her into the wicker basket of your arms, Pain, old friend, lay her down in a meadow of blankets at its basin and carry her to the stars, whose open arms wait for her to join them at last, for Hannah O'Leary has always belonged in the sky to blaze with the stars and soar through valleys of constellations.

Extend your arms out like a pair of angel wings, shield her from the ravenous glare of Oblivion and its waiting claws at the bottom of an abyss you must not allow her to tumble into. She has fallen far too many times, speared by arrows cast into the sky by a bow and a hand of none other than Oblivion. She once thought they were shooting stars in her years of blissful, blind ignorance.

Protect her, guardian, and stand with Hope in her final battle with the greatest opponent she will face.

The shadows have grown too vast, have become too much alike to a black sea for this to be anything other than the fourth, but not final, ending. They do not match the sky, set on fire by the kisses of the stars and the embraces of the moon. She once screamed and let loose an ocean from her eyes locked in darkness, but it in her final moments it is a blanket softer than the clouds, draped over her body like a shield.

Hannah O'Leary is not afraid.

Her heart is a clock within her chest, ticking away the moments to her new eternity. Each beat is set in slow motion, like a lazy hand weighed down by exhaustion upon a drum. Her blood pours onto the ground like a crimson avalanche, her breathing is shallower than a creek during a devastating drought, but fear has left her side, has drifted away into nowhere as a ghost.

She does not unravel before the cameras she knows are fixated on her, hungry to capture every last moment of Hannah O'Leary. The entire country of Panem is behind her, a thought that was once chilling but has become a comfort in the looming kingdoms of sunfall that gradually lean closer to her. It is Saxton and Jack who hold her hand, but theirs are not the only ones entwined with hers. Between the fingers of the phoenix, a jungle is laced, each palm a canopy of leaves, each vine a different finger. It is not their ghosts she feels curled across her hands, it is not a mirage of their presence. They are here, for she can hear their voices in the gentle wind, for she can see them in her stars, where her face will soon be woven in blue, for she feels their warm flesh against her own.

(Colgate, Abraxas, Cordelia, Katerina, Crest, Scope, Mother, Father, Clio.)

She assures her guardian angels with a promise: "It's okay. I'm going to be okay." A smile unfurls across her face; it is a promise she cannot shatter with the ceasing of her heart.
"Whether it is light or darkness I meet in this end, I am not afraid; do not fear for me, for light has never burned my eyes, and darkness has never chilled me to the bone."

"In a few short days, I have realized something: none of us are dying. Death does not prowl through this arena - how could it, when no such thing as ever existed? We will each meet our end and new beginning, all twenty-four of us, even the one who bears the burden of the crown. We are all coming home - did you hear me, Colgate? Abraxas, Cordelia, Katerina, Crest, Scope, Mom, Dad, Clio . . . . I'm coming home."

Oblivion, a thunder growls in your throat at Hannah O'Leary's words; they have cracked your scythe in two. Oblivion, you cannot harvest her soul. You were her shadow, you were her every footstep abandoned behind her, but never were your destinies fused together. Never did her bones belong crushed between your fingers, never did her blood belong pouring down in a crimson waterfall from your palm.

Hannah O'Leary does not belong upon your shelf.

"Crowns do not belong on a head like mine," she says, her eyes and mouth to the stars though she speaks to the pair of angels beside her. "Souls do not belong trapped in the cage beneath my skin. And most of all, I do not belong here. I am not meant to build a castle out of the bones of the children I have slain, I am not meant to paint the roofs of my towers red with their blood. This is a kingdom meant for another."

"Perhaps the crown is your calling, Jequirity Eckhart, Saxton Hale. But I know it is not mine."

In . . . hale.

Ex . . . hale.

These lungs cannot steal enough air to keep her afloat upon the waters of the end. She is not a sinking ship. She is not a falling bird with feeble wings, shot down by the gun of Oblivion. She is drifting back into the sea, her halfway house, each bone light with the grace of peace.

She does not mind the waves lapping at her fingertips.

In . . . hale.

Ex . . . hale.

Her bed does not rock with the violence of agony; the pain screaming within her bloodied, torn chest does not cast a snarling wave of misery and anguish to rip her apart, thread by thread, seam by seam. It is the anchor holding her to the ground, to her final moments in the world that once spit poison into her eyes from its clenched teeth. But the earth allows her one salvation, one peace to end all tragedies and agony -

In . . .

h . . . ale.

Ex . . .

h . . . ale. -

~~Death~~ Rest.

Oblivion, lay down your broken scythe.

hiding under the covers with no one else to blame
you couldn't help out your own neighbor
you couldn't tell it to his face
you were fucked up by the blame

. . .

table: fox
lyrics: brother by uncle jed
other: consent from arx & grim for
jack & saxton to hold hannah's hand <3

Last Edit: Oct 22, 2015 20:01:45 GMT -5 by я𝑜𝓈𝑒

"even stars burn out."

arx!!
Retired Staff

2,484 POSTS

Pronouns: she/her
last seen Nov 12, 2024 1:44:45 GMT -5

literally so gay, doing so many crimes

perihelion. {sunrise iv} | for hannah Oct 21, 2015 2:24:25 GMT -5

Quote

Post by arx!! on Oct 21, 2015 2:24:25 GMT -5

Jequirity Eckhart

♫

tired mechanical heart

The stitches in my chest were tearing, one by one, stitch by stitch, rip rip rip—and then the blood began to trickle again. My heart was bursting free from the cage I had stitched it into. That only made sense; my own body wanting to fall apart, to give up, to die before my soul has left it. More proof that I was weak, that's all it was. But weakness wasn't my enemy. It wouldn't stop me from fighting. It would only drive me.

Who I am is not a weakness. Nor is it a curse. Hell, I won't even let who I am be the death of me. If I am dying—if Death finally finishes me off like she had meant to 3 years ago—it will simply be because who I am just wasn't strong enough to beat the opponent at the tip of my sword. Every battle has its loser, but not every loser has to lose. I may lose but at least I won't lose myself.

I left Leo in safe spot. I helped patch him up as best as I could. But with a missing arm and blood, blood, blood everywhere, I wasn't certain how much my horrid attempts at first-aid had helped. By the time I had done all I could possibly do, I was sick of looking at him. All the cuts and blood and one-armedness was only a reminder of just how little I was in control. So I ran.

And now I'm wishing I had stayed with him.

(Saxton Hale, District 5.) I should run. I should fear my enemies and I should run. Maybe I should even teach myself to hate her. I could even kill her--- No. Look at her, Jeq. She hurts. I should still run. But right now I feel neither hatred nor do I fear the girl crumpled on the ground with tears in her eyes and sobs catching in her throat. She looks small, fragile—more like that girl who thought my music was beautiful. But even that is not the most disturbing part of the scene playing out in front of me.

(Hannah O'leary, District 9.) Her name is one that sticks out more than most in this place, the name shared with a Victor—Colgate O'leary. He is tall; I know not much more about him. But I do know Hannah. And though I wish I could look upon a dying enemy with no remorse—as much as I want to be the strong, fearless, sword-wielding, heartless bitch—my hands reach out to her, my knees buckle beneath me, and my heart aches with every ensuing beat.

The pool of her blood is warm on my knees, warmth I had been craving to feel since I was put in this place; I should never have wished for this warmth. For a split second I think I can sew up all the holes, bandage every cut, and make the pain disappear--- "It's okay. I'm going to be okay." --- but even she knows it's over. Too many holes, too many cuts, and too much pain. Hannah O'leary is dying. But no, she is wrong—nothing about this is okay.

Except maybe her smile. Maybe that was okay.

I don't have the right to cry, not the same rights as is afforded to family members and friends. So I hold back the tears, shove myself away—detach. Only my fingers are still laced in hers, woven together in knots that will never unfurl. I was tethered, caught—never will I be free of this memory. I was going to feel her hand in mine for the rest of my life. I was going to see that smile on every face. I was going to hear her voice in my nightmares. I would never be free of her, the stranger from District 9. I should have ran.

"Whether it is light or darkness I meet in this end, I am not afraid; do not fear for me, for light has never burned my eyes, and darkness has never chilled me to the bone." But I fear anyway. That's all I have ever been: fear. Fear of abandonment, fear of failure, fear of knives, fear of death, fear of speaking. I fear. That is who I have always been.

Please, please don't die.

"In a few short days, I have realized something: none of us are dying. Death does not prowl through this arena - how could it, when no such thing as ever existed?" (But I have seen death, have faced her and seen her with my own eyes. She speaks softly and gently, entices you with her warm words--- "Tell me what is your biggest fear, Miss Eckhart?" ---and embraces you with open arms. And then she pounces at your throat before you even recognize her as an enemy.) "We will each meet our end and new beginning, all twenty-four of us, even the one who bears the burden of the crown. We are all coming home - did you hear me, Colgate? Abraxas, Cordelia, Katerina, Crest, Scope, Mom, Dad, Clio . . . . I'm coming home."

A single tear rolls down my cheek, warmer than the sleet that has created a sheen over my skin. I look down at her and suddenly she isn't just some stranger anymore. She is not a tribute, not an enemy of mine—she is just a girl. She is a daughter, a sister, a friend. And from the very first moment I met her on the roof of the Training Center I should have known. I cried for home, wondering if I would ever see it again, see my family again. But she already knew: she was going home.

"Crowns do not belong on a head like mine."

(Only people who truly deserve crowns say things like that.)

"Souls do not belong trapped in the cage beneath my skin."

(No, they do not. But where does your soul go when your skin has fallen away?)

"And most of all, I do not belong here."

(Don't die.)

"I am not meant to build a castle out of the bones of the children I have slain."

(You can't die.)

"I am not meant to paint the roofs of my towers red with their blood."

(No.)

"This is a kingdom meant for another."

(...)

"Perhaps the crown is your calling, Jequirity Eckhart, Saxton Hale. But I know it is not mine."

I glance at Saxton who kneels at Hannah's other side. Her tears flow freely, her hand brushing Hannah's hair from her face. This was it. This was all I would see until I caught a knife in the eye or an axe in the skull. Pain. There was nothing else for me to look forward to. And nothing scared me more than the thought of seeing this replay over and over again.

Not even---

The last time I spoke I was begging for someone to save me. I had been naked, alone, and bleeding to death in a psychiatrist's office when the words, "Please... help... please, help me," gargled from my throat and rolled off my tongue. It has been 3 whole years since then; I have feared the thought of speaking ever since then. She had asked me to speak and I had nearly died because of it. And so my lips stayed sealed, the idea of a single utterance sending me into a blind panic.

Now all I feared was seeing more pain like the pain in Saxton Hale's eyes.

I had memorized the last sentences of every runner-up since the 54th Hunger Games. If I had known that I would be too afraid to speak again I would have chosen wiser words—words as lyrical as Hannah's or as real as the last utterances of the people who got so close to home. I memorized them all so that I could pretend I had said them. Hours in front of the television and of re-runs and I had finally remembered every single one.

I lean down so that my lips brush against Hannah's ear, my voice no more than a whisper. But to a girl like me who has not heard her own voice in over 3 years, it sounds like a scream.

“And I thought I was being dramatic,” I say it softly, gently. Laila Sycamore had used the words as a taunt, an exasperated comment of sorts. But they should mean something else to Hannah for it had been her brother who ended her life.

“Those are the last words your brother heard another tribute utter before he went home,” Another tear rolls down my cheek; I squeeze her hand tighter. “And I thought I was being dramatic.”

So now, Hannah O'leary, you too, are going home.

beats 'til the song disappears

"I run on the road, long before I dance under the lights."

grim.
Capitol Resident

1,081 POSTS
last seen Sept 30, 2020 18:45:26 GMT -5

perihelion. {sunrise iv} | for hannah Oct 22, 2015 20:40:13 GMT -5

Quote

Post by grim. on Oct 22, 2015 20:40:13 GMT -5

"Say you'll remember me,
even if its just pretend."

Says,Thinks, Hears

Exhilaration was the only logical feeling I could describe the moment my body went numb. She had fallen beneath the limbo of death, and crashed down upon a broken shore of betrayal. She was going to leave me, leave me for dead, to rot in this damn arena. She was just checking out, like I didn't need her, like I was capable of taking on a world of such a hateful magnitude.

She was wrong, I was weak, incapable of making anything pure of myself. Hannah O'Leary was my only sensibility. She was letting herself crumble, I hadn't known that she had the heart to abandon me. But there she was fallen on the shivering floors of a sinful Eden. She laid with such submission, as if the world had finally given her the final blow. But I was not ready to except this I was not ready for all of this to come to an end so quickly.

My body had felt as if something was pulling my heart into so many different directions, like it was screaming to let go or it would shred to pieces. The boy from eight had taken his distance along with the rest of his alliance, though I half believed that Someith would stay to at least pay his respects, but I should have known his hatred for people would never falter. He was a tainted spirit, leaving me alone no one to feel against my body in the cold night of lonesomeness. I was going to die in this arena, and I very well might do it myself.

It wasn't until I heard the slight crunch of the near by leaves that I had even taken a glimpse up from Hannah's blood dried face. But when I had I saw the figure of the girl with the beautiful sounds. She had done nothing more then pull a bow back and forth and pluck a few strings, and it had churned my heart into a knot. Our first meeting had begun with my face covered int liquid realization of my being, of my future. Without that time of reassurance I would have been less prepared for what I have had to do in this arena, I was becoming exactly what I thought I never could be. Manipulative, like my bitch of a mother.

Jaquirity had taken a seat a crossed from me, alongside Hannah. Her hands quickly grasped the hand of Hannah, her body seemingly full of want, a want that was so strongly endowed that I could feel the radiance of that want from within myself. I was afraid of what I had done, of what I had caused. I had killed a little girl just yesterday, and today I had lost a girl that I can truly say I loved. She was someone of nobility, someone who deserved to see this whole thing through.

"It's okay. I'm going to be okay." She says with a voice of pure assurance. She had fooled herself, but I was not going to take that petty shit for an answer. I deserved to see her fight for longer, she deserved to watch the moon ascend over the horizon greeting her with yet another night of serenity. It was not okay, she was lying to not only herself, but she was lying to me, from her very own mouth. That same mouth that I had placed my kiss upon days before, that same girl that I so willingly would have followed to the end of this forsaken arena. And here she was telling a lie only to make my stomach sit upright.

"Whether it is light or darkness I meet in this end, I am not afraid; do not fear for me, for light has never burned my eyes, and darkness has never chilled me to the bone." What could she possibly mean by this? Light had never burned her eyes because she took kindness in modesty. She was was so elegant so angelic, but with all of that I did not find myself blinded. Darkness had never found her soul, because she was pure of heart, she was the essence of a blessed infant, her body glowing with the glory of the divine. Fear she may not have felt, but I was overwhelmed with a sensation of goodbye. I hated goodbyes, but what I had despised even more was saying hello. Hello was simply opening up the door to your own demolition of your heart. Giving out the opportunity to pick away the only bit of love I had left.

"In a few short days, I have realized something: none of us are dying. Death does not prowl through this arena - how could it, when no such thing as ever existed? We will each meet our end and new beginning, all twenty-four of us, even the one who bears the burden of the crown. We are all coming home - did you hear me, Colgate? Abraxas, Cordelia, Katerina, Crest, Scope, Mom, Dad, Clio . . . . I'm coming home."

She had spoke with that same certainty that had landed her a dash on the chart of my hearts lost and forgotten. She had become a part of something bigger then I was created to endure. A sort of paradise waits above the clouds, a place where all of us will see each other for the rest of eternity, but in reality I was undeserving of a name tag in heaven. I had committed a crime so unbelievably unforgivable, that not even I can forget the eyes of a child melting away their only life. I had created a childless mother, a sister less sibling. I had erased a blank spot within a perfect painting, and now I will pay with the souls of those that I love. Death is ripping away from me the one flower within a field of wheat.

"Crowns do not belong on a head like mine,"

If only she could see the crown that I had always had placed upon her head. The crown that had represented my love for a girl that meant so much to me for the simple fact that she understood. She sat in a golden lounge silk cast over her body, because she was meant to be royal. She was a princess only awaiting the day she can take her rightful place. But perhaps heaven had made for a date with the only angel that has ever walked on earth...Hannah O'Leary.

"Souls do not belong trapped in the cage beneath my skin. And most of all, I do not belong here. I am not meant to build a castle out of the bones of the children I have slain, I am not meant to paint the roofs of my towers red with their blood. This is a kingdom meant for another."

She could not have been all the more correct. She was not meant for any of these things, she was not designed to kill, but I was destined. I had to carry out the want for a higher being. Children of sin must fall for those of light to ever shine. And my soul had already welted, so the duty entrusted upon me meant that I would acquire salvation, I would become divine. Hannah had never had to play this game of chess, the game that decided if you were the damned, or the saved. Because her pure soul had made her saved throughout the eyes of all of those that are responsible on judgment day.

"Perhaps the crown is your calling, Jequirity Eckhart, Saxton Hale. But I know it is not mine." I had a head that did not deserve any form of recognition. My head had been to filled with the thoughts of pain, with the thoughts of suffering. But without any sane moral reason to put the crown on, I hide within the fear of myself, within the warmth of Hannah. I was afraid and I was blind to the idea of losing someone like Hannah. With time a person eventually gains immortality within the eye of the viewer. A want can become so intensely believable in the head of a loved one.

I hear the tiny echo of Jequirity Whisper something into Hannah's ear, my body becomes afraid of this girl, but only for a moment. My eyes had been fixated on Hannah, never faltering. Soon I would find my final resting place but not without taking down ever last one of these children of sin. They live in a way of sin that has brought our world to this point of boiling. I continue to brush the hair from Hannah's face with the tips of my fingers. I feel my warm salted droplets of fear drip down upon Hannah's body.

"There was never a promise of a goodbye, not by the girl who had stolen away my heart."

"Red lips and rosy cheeks."

{ table: briar }

where my demons hide.

я𝑜𝓈𝑒
Mentor

2,890 POSTS

Pronouns: she/her/they/them
last seen Nov 23, 2023 2:34:11 GMT -5

anyway don't be a stranger

perihelion. {sunrise iv} | for hannah Oct 23, 2015 2:32:07 GMT -5

Quote

Post by я𝑜𝓈𝑒 on Oct 23, 2015 2:32:07 GMT -5

☾

i spent my evenings
pulling stars out of the sky
and i'd arrange them on
the lawn where i would lie

Sunfall bears no despair upon its back, brings no misery with its scarlet breath. It takes the steps of a ballerina on their toes, each movement alive with the wings of grace. Sunfall is not deeply hesitant or stubbornly reluctant. It is not an avalanche of quicksand oozing excruciatingly sluggish down a steep hill that breaks off into the skies from a old, jagged cliff. Sunfall halts the swan dance with the fluid raise of a flat hand for Hannah O'Leary to draw her breaths -

I n . . . h . . . a l e.

E x . . . h . . . a l e -

torn to raggedness by the blade of Cody Bowers-Fox. It waits for the phoenix girl to chase her fleeing air; it waits for her to captivate the rising obsidian veils of smoke from the sky back into her through her throat, snaking down into her body, their home. It waits for the battlecry to tumble into the abyss of silence; it waits for the war to halt and cease fire.

"Your battle is over and won, Hannah O'Leary," glides the susurrus of Sunfall into her ear, promise laced between each syllable. She is offered the hand of Sunfall, enfolded in the infinities that open their arms with the stars, beckoning her, like the soft tug of the zephyrs that sing through the canopy of trees, to join them in their harmony of peace.

"Not yet. Not yet," she tells Sunfall.
The defiance in her voice is a fringe of feathers pivoting towards the ground; there is no singed blackness from the fire, the fire that rages against moribund light. No sparks hide in the current of her silent words to Sunfall, no embers are crouched along the edges like a panther anticipating an attack.

Sunfall becomes a statue beneath honoring the wish of Hannah O'Leary, frozen in the grace of the ballet. It has no teeth to bare, no voicebox to ripple thunder throughout the cavity of its chest and outward into the air, hollow with weakened breath. Where the voicebox should lie, silver wind chimes hang from delicate threads, clinking together in the peel of a lullaby.
"Tell me when you are ready for the cannon to call you."

Words drown on the boneyard shores of the shallow waters of her breath, swept away by the sound of Jequirity Eckhart's voice, a rare melody in a slowly receding sea of numbing silence.
"And I thought I was being dramatic."

She knows those words.

They belong to the ignited lips of Laila Sycamore, the final soul reaped from Colgate's axes. She has slaved before the television, mind going numb as the late night dragged on and eyes stinging with the scream for sleep, rewinding, rewinding, rewinding, the 66th Hunger Games. She has dragged her ears over their last words, the only things Colgate could never steal from them.

(22.) Luke Davis - "I do."

(19.) Hannah McEwen - "Wanna send me some stuff?"

(5.) Lyric Woulf - "I am so so sorry."

(3.) Willis Keeni - "Kill me."

(2.) Laila Sycamore - "And I thought I was being dramatic."

Laila's final words do not pound against her eardrums like a violent needle driven by a stone hand trembling with red anger. They touch her with the gentleness of a cloud and shroud her in warmth. Laila had uttered them when Colgate lit his note to Hannah, to his family, ablaze and charged at her, a bull provoked by carmine, a cry of war white hot on his tongue.

"Those are the last words your brother heard another tribute utter before he went home."
An ocean snake escapes from the eye of Jequirity and dances down her cheek. Her hand closes around Hannah O'Leary's, a shelter to block away the winter breeze that threatens to creep upon her skin.
"And I thought I was being dramatic."

Hannah O'Leary's voice rises from the grave in a desperate muster of her collapsing breath.
"The stars . . . ."

Her frail finger lifts, an arrow pointed at the night sky.
"I can see her. Right there . . . one of the brightest. Laila Sycamore never died. None of them did. I once thought we would become mountains of ashes . . . but there she is. There they are."

Her eyes nearly flutter shut, struggling against sleeping beauty's mist that widens its wings upon the land and closes its embrace around Hannah O'Leary. But her flames flare into a pillar to chase it away, a hound warding off a fox. It is Saxton who pulls her by the hand away from the velvet bed of eternal slumber.
"There was never a promise of a goodbye, not by the girl who had stolen away my heart."

She is no stranger to the rose petal flesh of Saxton Hale. Not since the night on the roof of the training center with kisses between the swoons of the stars and giggles of the moon. And she is not in this moment, with a crater in her chest and dried blood like desert sand mixing with the new seas that dare leak from her split veins. The hands of Saxton and Jequirity steady her through the walk on her fraying tightrope, their strength never once faltering against the relentless press of sleep.

Silence and

i n . . . h . . . a l e.

E x . . . h . . . a l e.

Hannah O'Leary is quick to follow.
"Goodbye is between every heartbeat. Goodbye is woven into each breath of life we draw. You were promised, Saxton Hale. You were always promised, just as I promise you now that I will sail away on the ship of infinity into the sky, far, far away from this place. I have never belonged to the earth. My bones, my blood, my body, is meant to soar along the flanks of clouds and drink the blue of the sky."

Silence and

i . . . n . . . h a l e.

E . . . x . . . h a l e.

"A piece of your heart is in mine, but it will not lie in my casket with the shell I will leave behind. Our feelings for each other never truly stretched beyond the halos of friendship. In me, you found your Xavier; in you, I found my Abraxas. Go home to him, Saxton. Do not waste another breath kissing me or telling me you love me; air is a privilege in this place."

"The bottle cap. You keep it because you love Xavier Clarke. Never let it go. Never let him go; let him be a helping hand behind your glaive. I will be there, too. I will never leave, Saxton, but I will be behind you and Xavier will be along the path ahead.

"Go home. Go home, where all the promises will be kept to you by a boy who could not bear to break them. And when you do go home, heartbeat or not, do not forget your soul, no matter how cracked or bruised or stained it may be, beneath the rubble in the arena."

Her eyes descend and scrape the grass, and then hastily rocket upwards once more, to Jack's eyes.
"We are all going home, Jack. Join me in the stars or join me beneath them; I will be in the sky, here, in District Six, in District Nine. The sky has no ends and neither do I. Neither do we."

She had once thought herself to be a cold corpse, risen from a battlefield in ruins, littered with old bones and rusty swords. She had once thought her chest to be hollow of a heart. She had once thought her hand to be a cage where Abraxas's heart would rot beneath the piling sin. But the arena had twisted her lenses, distorted them to see only darkness and saturate the golden light to grayscale.

Hannah O'Leary was so, so wrong.

With her flame for a heart, ice could never infest her veins, cold could never claim her.

When she dared Death to kiss her and drink her light away, she had not realized that no such being, no such shadow, has ever touched the ground or the sky. When she had screamed through her head that she was a sinner, she had not realized that a halo hovered over her head. When she had watched Saxton's blade spear the neck of Paige Hope, she had not realized that beneath the cold, dark numb was a silenced sob.

Hannah O'Leary was so, so wrong.

But she is a feather in this moment, no longer held prisoner by the stones of her self-judgement, twirling through the air like the falling stars -

no.

Not falling stars, not spiraling mounds of rock and fire with hopeful wishes streaming along in their tails.

Parachutes,

four drops of white and silver rain.

Her trembling hands unfold the packaging to reveal a shroud, a sheath of paper, a Celtic tapestry, and a pen and inkwell.

Hannah knows what she must do the moment her hands touch the paper, so delicate and pure, pure white. She dips the pen in the black ink and glides her fingers along the pen before placing the end at the top of the paper.

She waits for words, but there is no sudden burst like a river running from the confines of a heavy dam. There is only a bone dry wasteland infecting the point of the pen and the tips of her fingers. Years of unspoken words tremble on the end of the pen, years when duct tape sewed her lips shut and condemned her to silence. And she screamed when she finally ripped it from her mouth, but the lost words fell into the sea, into the dark dark sea, and no net or fishing rod could every hoist them back to the surface.

Silence and

i . . . n . . . h . . . a l e.

E . . . x . . . h . . . ale.

The sound of her gradually receding hourglass heartbeat, a faint whisper in her ears, is what finally drives the words from her fingers to the ink hanging onto the tip of the pen.

~~Dishrag~~ Colgate, Mom, Dad, Katerina, Scope, Crest, Marbles, Cordelia -

I thought I should write to you, for I do not have the luxury of setting my letter home on fire. When you hear my cannon, it is not the scream of death. It is shutting book of my first story, and the echo is the new turning pages when the light brushes the earth again. I'm coming home to you, not just the body I leave behind nestled into a wooden box, but my soul, too, blazing in the midnight skies. You will see me, every night, if you lay out on the pillows of grass in our backyard. I will never leave any of you.

I don't know what I believe in - oblivion or afterlife or whatever. But I do know that there is no such thing as the end. My body might be going to the grave, but I am joining the stars in their harmonies and constellations. There has to be something else out there, some beautiful infinity after the body cannot draw air any longer and the heart gives in to sleep.

I never said "I love you" enough. But I do. I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you. And even when my heart ceases to drum against my chest, our family bonds will never break like the old, fraying strings of tattered fabric.

Col, don't stop making your moronic jokes. And don't ever stop smiling, don't you dare. Follow the advice you have always given me when tears soak my face or discouragement is piled heavy on my trembling back: chin up. When they called my name, part of me wanted to blame you. Part of me thought the Capitol was punishing you, maybe for trying to teach us how to survive in the Games, maybe just because you lived and didn't die beneath Laila Sycamore's blade. But you became a victor for us, so we wouldn't fall asleep with howling stomachs anymore. And in the five years following your victory, I found myself at last and I was happy - I am happy. It's not your fault. None of this is. You couldn't save me from the reaping - I knew that the moment my name was entered when I was twelve years old.

But perhaps my sacrifice can save the rest of the O'Learys.

Cordelia, I know you haven't married my brother (yet), but you're already an O'Leary. You are my sister, and screw the whole "blood is thicker than water" saying, because you couldn't possibly be anything but my sister. And I will leave the earth knowing that you will make Colgate happy - that's enough for me. When things get bleak, you will have each other to hold onto. Don't ever, ever let go of that.

Katerina, Scope, Crest, Marbles, you have all survived so much through your short lives. We did it together, and we still will. I'll be behind you every step of the way, even though you won't be able to see me. My voice will be in the breezes that ruffles your clothes and my embrace will be in the warmth of the sun. Don't forget your baby/big sister is still here.

Mom and Dad, I love you, and I love the same, redundant story of how you two meant, playing over and over on your mouths like a never ending record. I love the bedtime stories you spun from the top of your head. I love your steady hand in my quivering one as you walked me to the first day of school every year until I was thirteen. You're not losing your baby, I promise. You'll never lose me.

And one more thing -

Tell Clio I love her, because I won't ever get to say it again. Tell her I love her garden and the sound of her voice. Tell her I love every damn word she has ever said.

Hannah.

. . .

Abraxas -

I love you, irrevocably. I don't know if you believe me after the things I've done, after I betrayed you with my lips alone. I did it because I was so weakened by fear and the hollowness from missing you, and I needed a crutch to lift my breaking frame. Regret nearly swallows me whole, but what keeps me from shattering under the glare of guilt is the light of loving you, even if I tainted what we have.

You will always have my heart, but when my soul is woven into the stars and my feet no longer walk this earth, I do not want you to hold onto mine. Burn it and throw its ashes into the wind, if you must. I want you to move on. Mend your heart if it is broken over my betrayal or my death or both. And if the air around you becomes tar, do not succumb, for from struggling comes the strength of stone.

Your name is in every heartbeat of mine, even the final one. Hold onto that, and let it go when you're ready. I cannot kiss you in the stars. I will not be able to wrap my arms around you every day. A ghost in the stars can't give you what you deserve, and you deserve happiness. So find someone else. Laugh until your lungs hurt. Kiss her until your lips speak their last words.

Please.

Love,
Hannah.

. . .

She folds the letters with frail fingers, more feeble than tall blades of grass bowing before the majesty of a sharp gale. The papers are tucked into the waistline of her skirt, blatantly sticking out to ensure that they will see it. Her hand remains pressed into the folded letters, almost in fear that they will spread their wings and rise into the void of oblivion, never to be seen or read again.

The heavy gaze of Hannah O'Leary drags itself with her free hand to the Celtic tapestry. It unravels before her eyes with a few tugs, and the final scene from her brother's Games unfolds.

He is running running running, away from Laila's broken body, away from the cry of the cannon that follows the echo of her silencing heartbeat. She remembers the scene as if it happened moments ago, for it was carved into her skull and etched deep into her mind when her eyes first captured the closing of the 66th Hunger Games.

She could never rid herself of that ghost until she saw Laila, until she saw them all, scintillating points of fire fire fire, forever setting the sky ablaze with their lion hearts and angel tears.
"That was your sunfall, Colgate, and the crown was your sunrise. And this . . . this is mine."

Hannah turns her eyes back to the stars that lean down to hold her slipping soul in their opening arms. And for the first time since the numbness had melted away and shattered and unveiled her humanity once more,

shooting stars fall from her eyes, great blue mirrors reflecting the seven seas of the skies above.

As her body gradually slips further into the waters of the Great Beyond, her hands tighten around Saxton and Jequirity's.

Deafening silence and

i . . . n . . . h . . . a . . . l . . . e.

E . . . x . . . h . . . a . . . l . . . e.

The fissures spidering across the ruins of her cracked porcelain skin do not match her voice, faded but strong against the fleeing air she no longer has the energy to chase after and play a game of tag.
"Jack . . . Jack . . . can you play a song for me?"

. . .

She closes her eyes, and waits for Sunfall.

and in the wind i'd
taste the dreams of distant lives
and i would dress myself up
in them through the night

. . .

table: fox
lyrics: the mute by radical face

Last Edit: Oct 23, 2015 8:11:20 GMT -5 by я𝑜𝓈𝑒

"even stars burn out."

arx!!
Retired Staff

2,484 POSTS

Pronouns: she/her
last seen Nov 12, 2024 1:44:45 GMT -5

literally so gay, doing so many crimes

perihelion. {sunrise iv} | for hannah Oct 23, 2015 21:27:03 GMT -5

Quote

Post by arx!! on Oct 23, 2015 21:27:03 GMT -5

Jequirity Eckhart

♫

tired mechanical heart

But I, Jequirity Eckhart, will not be joining her.

She recognizes the stars as home, a safe haven and a place where the dead live on in a harmonious beauty synonymous with the sun rise on clear mornings. And though that sounds like a wonderful place, my home is in my mothers' arms, in my sisters' smiles, and with music pumping through my veins. I can't let go of this life. I don't have enough faith that I can exist somewhere else. I know she can, I know she will; she made that decision the moment her name rang out over District 9. But I can't let go of this life, not yet. I will die an old woman with deep wrinkles and swollen, arthritis-ridden knuckles. I made that decision the moment I recognized I had been given a second chance. I glance at the letters I had etched into my arm during my Private Training Session—J-E-Q. Jagged were the edges, crooked like the teeth of a young child, but at least I had claimed the scar-ridden tissue as my own again.

Hannah's hand is growing colder and paler in mine as her blood continues to feed the dark soil, the trees. (Long after these Games have ended her blood will still run hot through these trees. It's a beautiful thought really.) She points a delicate finger to the sky as if she were already trying to touch--- "The stars . . . ."

Her body is slowly giving out where her soul fights on. "I can see her. Right there . . . one of the brightest. Laila Sycamore never died. None of them did. I once thought we would become mountains of ashes . . . but there she is. There they are." I wonder if the blood loss has finally crept into her brain, distorting what is real and what is only imagination. I wonder if she sees the ghosts from the heavens brushing their fingers gently across her face, beckoning her. Because I think I see their reflections shimmering in her eyes. If only I could find the faith to believe in something beyond this hell hole---I could drown in her eyes and swim amongst ghosts.

But I'm tethered here to this life. And I won't let go.

I drop Hannah's hand when Saxton speaks and turn my back, not because I want to respect their privacy, but because I don't want them to see me cry. I stand and take a few steps away, my mind yelling: Run, run, run. But my heart is stronger than my mind; it always has been. I think it happened the moment I picked up an instrument. Maybe it even happened the moment my Moms picked me up off their front porch. Either way, it's my heart that roots my feet to the ground. I slap my hand over my mouth so that they can't hear the sobs that escape. I force my muscles into complete stillness so that they don't see the pain racking my body.

It is these moments of pure grief that I have to take from Hannah. I have to take them into my heart and let them fester and consume me. I have to have these moments. I have to let a dying girl give them to me and I have to take them. Because without them—without my aching heart and weak knees—I will become someone I don't want to be. The moment I stop valuing a life, any life, will be the moment I have lost. I will not lose myself; I will absorb it all, sucking like a leach on Hannah's dying breaths. Because I care. Because I care too much. Because I have always cared too much.

The moment it all stops hurting and I stop caring---

"We are all going home, Jack. Join me in the stars or join me beneath them; I will be in the sky, here, in District Six, in District Nine. The sky has no ends and neither do I. Neither do we."

---is the moment I won't return home.

She's right; we are going home. She will be the star in the sky that guides me there.

I take a deep breath to fend off the tears; they don't go away. I swallow the lump in my throat and dig my toe into the dirt. Parachutes fall, each of them meant for Hannah who lays behind me. (Saxton could jab her spear through my back right now and I wouldn't see it coming.) I fold my hands in front of me, rubbing away the cold and replacing it with pain, twisting my skin until it hurts. (Daria could come back with her knife and slice me open again.) I hear the sound of pen to paper, a sound so familiar it brings on a new wave of tears. (The Gamemakers could blow me up. Right here. Right now.) The cold is numbing. But it doesn't numb then pain.

Why do you have to die, Hannah?

I stare down at my bloodstained shirt. In the dark it looks like a black hole has formed from inside my chest, a hole where my heart should be.

Why?

I return to her side as she unfolds her tapestry. Mine still clung around my neck, still threatening to choke me out the moment I lost sight of home on the horizon. But her's seemed to me as close to home as she could get. To die with the comfort of her brother encasing her in a tender and warm embrace seemed better than anything Saxton or I could offer.

I take her hand but I can't look into her eyes. I said I would take every last moment, every last ounce of pain and agony that could be injected straight into my poor, dark heart, but I've had enough. If I take anymore I will overdose--- "Jack . . ." --- please, no, Hannah, please don't make me, I can't take anymore--- "Jack . . ." ---I squeeze my eyes shut because I can't look into her's, not even as a last request. I thought I could take it all.

Why do you have to die?!

"Can you play a song for me?"

A small sob breaks free from the thin strings of self-control that had been holding them all back. But it's not just a sob; a sputter of laughter escaped with it. It's the noise I've always loved hearing, the sound of a broken person feeling just a little less broken. I slowly place her hand on her chest, slowly moving mine away. I nod. Give a smile. And I look to her.

And my heart simply twists into a knot of agony as more silent tears begin rolling down my chin.

She could be sleeping. That's just how peaceful she looks in the starlight. You wouldn't know she is dying or drifting further and further away from this reality unless you looked closely.

I've got the violin pressed my neck and the bow raised to the strings in an instant. I take a deep breath to calm the shaking of my hands, but it is not until I have played the first notes of a lullaby that the shaking finally stops and the music takes over, just as it always has.

I close my eyes.

Her eyes stare back.

Sweet dreams, Hannah.

Sweet dreams.

beats 'til the song disappears

Last Edit: Oct 24, 2015 1:21:12 GMT -5 by arx!!

"I run on the road, long before I dance under the lights."

grim. Capitol Resident 1,081 POSTS last seen Sept 30, 2020 18:45:26 GMT -5	perihelion. {sunrise iv} \| for hannah Oct 23, 2015 21:30:33 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by grim. on Oct 23, 2015 21:30:33 GMT -5 "Say you'll remember me, even if its just pretend." Says,Thinks, Hears Filler for the same reason as Arx <3 { table: briar }
	where my demons hide.

я𝑜𝓈𝑒
Mentor

2,890 POSTS

Pronouns: she/her/they/them
last seen Nov 23, 2023 2:34:11 GMT -5

anyway don't be a stranger

perihelion. {sunrise iv} | for hannah Nov 1, 2015 9:45:43 GMT -5

Quote

Post by я𝑜𝓈𝑒 on Nov 1, 2015 9:45:43 GMT -5

[presto]

"the sun falls to rise again; phoenixes do not die."

[/presto]

you taught me the courage of stars
before you left
how light carries on endlessly
even after death

Moonlight's silver tears do not snuff out her flames, do not breathe ice daggers upon flesh white hot with the FIRE kindled by kerosene smoldering through emptying veins. Moonlight's silver tears leave ebony rockets of smoke in their wake and when they plant their kiss upon the crimson wasteland of Hannah O'Leary's skin, blazing flesh meets its own kind and flames unfold from the sparks between the breaths prior to the earth shattering touch. Upon glorious contact the fire fire fire riots into the air and crackles up a choir of wispy melodies into the unraveling arms of the skies - a rebellion against Oblivion.

Emblems of a revolution shining in her eyes, carmine flags enveloping her slipping soul, almost lupine battlecries howling on her tongue; even beneath the blanket of rest her rebellion is imperishable for Oblivion will never claim her. The stars promise something greater than the darkness she had once thought to be so inevitable; Oblivion itself promises its own demise, not with its desert lips or poison laced teeth but with the rifts devastating its scythe, laid beneath the snow of bitter surrender.
Victory lies gloriously scorching in her hands, and the prize is rest, a kingdom where darkness and terror cannot intrude, cannot ooze their omens through the spaces in the opening golden gates.

Fear does not caress her into the abyss of its palms; its shadows have long been chased away by the silver warriors of the stars. Fear was ragged out the door and descended into a crevice in the crumbling earth, never to be caught in red by wide eyes. Fear has been exiled, banished, cast away into the winter wilderness to be weathered and worn and rotted by the hisses of the wind.

with shortness of breath
you explained the infinite
how rare and beautiful it is
to even exist

There is no strike of a match to tear a signed ~~girl~~ phoenix, feathers more delicate than black lace, bones more breakable than her porcelain skin, apart with the blades of fire. There is only the flames in her heart to ignite the kerosene rushing through the canals of her veins, and their child is a wildfire, dancing with elegance in every fluid, soft movement. Fire is not a knife against her throat, it is a part of her, woven into every fiber of her very being.
And this fire is not ready for the ashes. Not yet, not yet.

(Just a few moments longer.)

Hannah O'Leary does not lay down her lion heart and surrender to the shadow of the heavy crown, glaring at her ominously. Disappointment blazes in its black, beady eyes, and raspy words from its sharp tongue cut into the air.
"You are not your brother, Hannah O'Leary.
You are a dying mound of sliced flesh,
and nothing can heal your wounds."

But heavy crown, she does not bow beneath your crushing weight. Heavy crown, your glare is not a sword through her throat. Heavy crown, your diamonds do not fill her lungs and slice her insides. Heavy crown,
she won't fall down.
Heavy crown,
your gold is meant for another head;
this one already has a halo.

"You are right," she whispers into the wind.
"It is pointless to deny the truth, so stark, even in the night.
I am not Colgate. I am not a victor. I am Hannah.
I am a phoenix. A fighter. An ally. A friend. A lover. A sister.
And soon to be, not a dead girl, but a star."

Her words are a killing blow; the heavy crown lies submerged in silence.

But the heavy crown is right about one thing. Nothing can heal the chasms that have been cut into her, jagged lines surging viciously across the deserts of her skin. She has been painted crimson like a china teacup by relentless blades that have never been touched by the gleam of mercy. Endless trails of bandages could absorb the oceans of blood and obscure the ruins they have made of her body, but nothing nothing nothing can piece together the shattered puzzle of her flesh and bones.

i couldn't help but ask
for you to say it all again
i tried to write it down
but i could never find a pen

Her heart is ~~a steady drum~~ the weak pitter patter of rain upon lands ravaged by drought; there are not enough beats to return the old verdant life to the mountains of dead dirt. Her body is not a temple of strength: her veins weep with exhaustion, her breaths are screams begging for sleep, her eyes are stones nestled into the bed of slumber.
Sunfall is not whirling in a rush.

But there are too many fissures thundering between her china breaths -

i . . . n . . . ~~hhHh~~H . . . aaAaA . . . l . . . e.

eEe

.

x

.

~~hHH~~h
~~aAa~~a

.

l

.

e -

and too many rifts shattering her glass heartbeats -

thump . . .

thump . . . -

for Sunfall to be anywhere but near.

But Hannah O'Leary cannot be fixed; she is not broken. Her body lies demolished in the aftermath of the ever raging war, but she is whole.

A phoenix's bones may break, their flesh may tear, their blood may water the earth. But phoenixes do not die, and Hannah O'Leary is no exception. Immortal souls like these cannot spiral down the drain into the void of nothingness. No dark hand could ever yank them from their luminous galaxy of infinity.

Hannah O'Leary is no exception.

When she was a child, she was scarlet. She was gold. She was drenched in sun and darkness had not once cast its gaze upon her, it had not brushed her with its ~~fingers~~ claws and expelled its seeds into her pores. A black forest could not infest her skin, could not entwine its monstrous roots with the rivers of her veins. Darkness was

a ghost,
a handful of dust hiding in the winds,
a fragment of glass with edges too sharp for paper skin,
no match against the sun.

And the good night did not show its fangs, the good night did not dare mask the empires of stars from eyes who yearned for them so. Cradles were woven from the arms of the stars carrying a paper doll, a dream child with a skull filled with constellations of imaginary worlds crafted by the hope in her heart and ludicrous ideas that could never cross into stone reality.

But her head became a coliseum and she was no gladiator; the lions ruled those stone kingdoms and the sky trembled against their roars. And her hollow china body was filled with black, black tar, choked her with her own smoke and tried to drown her in the seas of her own misery. No onslaught of tears, carving scars into her cheeks, could crush her to wisps of smoke and smithereens.

i'd give anything to hear
you say it one more time
that the universe was made
just to be seen by my eyes

The pain -
snakes hissing against their forked tongues, weaving between her ribs,
beasts tearing through the forests of her insides -
was a path of broken glass and closing darkness,
with no ending light in sight.

And she would scream against the fangs of utter anguish, writhing through her every vein, tearing at her insides until she swore her soul bled. But this pain echoing through her chest in the aftermath of Cody Bowers-Fox's axe feels like a kiss more than anything else. Not a merciless hurricane screaming agony agony AGONY, not a wolf pack tearing their steel teeth against a body of paper and glass in a war of sadism.

Just a kiss, an ebbing ebbing kiss.
Ebbing, with everything else.

A river pours around Hannah O'Leary - her lullaby, cascading into the air by tears of despairing sorrow and the strings of Jequirity Eckhart's violin. Her soul dances to the lament as it breaks free from the prison of her body. It leads her through the blurring darkness of the bridge to the sky and holds her hand until her feet find themselves at the edge and her hands are gripping the ends of the rails.
But not yet, not yet.

i couldn't help but ask
for you to say it all again
i tried to write it down
but i could never find a pen

Blue eyes open with her parted mouth to say goodbye.
"Please, do not mourn me. Do not cry for my broken body and lifted soul in the dark hours of the nights you have left.
Everyone better keep their chins up after I'm gone, because I won't be there to yell at you if you don't."

"The sun, when you see it rise . . . that is the light of hope. Know that I will be within its arms.
And this. This is my perihelion; I have never been so close to the warmth of hope."

Her voice fades into the whispers of the breeze,
and she closes her eyes.
They do not open again.

The stars say softly into her ear,
"Sleep, darling, sleep."
And they open their arms to welcome her home.

One last drop of blood is carried to meet the ground by the gentle tug of the wind.
One last rise and fall of tired lungs shatters the air.
One last heartbeat whispers in the hollow of a still chest.

Sunfall comes to kiss away her soul, rolling over the forest with its golden breath and touch of rose.
Tap.

Her fire scrapes the sky as
the first page of infinity unfolds before her,
and she falls asleep in the embrace of stars.

(Hannah's cannon fires.)

i'd give anything to hear
you say it one more time
that the universe was made
just to be seen by my eyes

- ☼ -

The cannon is not the roar of a savage lion or the scream of death. It is a silver song, pouring into the air in harmony with Jack, who does not cease to play her violin, even after Hannah O'Leary's breath has broken off into the bridge to the skies.
It is the echo of her final heartbeat.

Ashes dance like snowflakes to the ground.
Fire is no more.

Hannah O'Leary is once more
ash.

Darkness and ice join hands to hang their cloak upon the ashes and drown out the waltz of the embers.

But death and phoenixes have never once shaken hands; they are two ships passing in the perilous night. Nothing could ever claim the incandescent flames of Hannah O'Leary, nothing could ever claim even her ashes and embers, left in a slate gray kingdom lit up with scarlet on the ground. Neither darkness nor cold could creep its way across her remains, could not drink away every last fragment of fire or ghost of warmth.
For when she ascends into the sky to join the stars,
from the ashes sprout new feathers,
from the embers unfold reborn flames.

Phoenixes do not die.

And she bursts into the sky.
Veils of ashes shoot into the darkness like bullets fired from a pistol. Pale gray feathers soaked in the tears of moonlight and shrouded in the embrace of the stars flicker with flourishing embers. They rise from the boneyard to a kingdom of fire fire FIRE and each caress of wind is a drop of gasoline.
She sets the sky ablaze.

Every chain that dared entangle itself around Hannah O'Leary falls away to the earth she leaves behind in her flight to the stars and infinity. Endless clink clink clink clinking rains upon the ground and ricochets into the air, like the chimes of old, rusty bells on a Sunday morning.

She is free.

Her wings extend into the infinities of the sky.
No deadly sins lie clandestine between her feathers, no clefts spider along her halo in a daunting threat to shatter its light. She is wrapped in not sin and corruption and taint from the arena, but innocence, for her wings are not stained with the blood of her friends and foes, but are drenched in the scarlet ichor of the sunfall.
She flies home to her brothers and sisters perched upon constellations.
Those wings are not meant to brush against the earth again.

Phoenixes do not die.

Her corpse lies within the arms of crimson, but her soul is swathed in the silver havens of the stars.

Saxton Hale rises, and begins to decorate the desolate remains of Hannah O'Leary's empty shell, perhaps, as a sign of respect.
(Not even the echo of a lost heartbeat passes through the abandoned vessel.)

White.
The color pours down the dark locks of her hair in thick, winding rivulets, elegantly woven into the soft tresses by the hands of a grieving girl. White, it gathers together from lily patches nestled between blades of grass and forms a bed encircling Hannah O'Leary's numbly silent corpse. White, it is painted across the skin of her corpse by the moonlight's ever raining tears.
White, it nearly matches her pearly wings.

A pool of silver tinged snow, a shroud that had fallen so gracefully from the sky in a parachute, is draped over the broken body of the phoenix girl to obscure the downpours of blood and slices in her flesh that will never sink below the surface.

What a beautiful ruin.

And on the brink of dawn, just before the hovercraft swoops down to collect her corpse,

she entwines with infinity and the stars
and the sun yawns and awakens from its slumber beneath the drought of night.
With its breaths breaking back into consciousness, it begins to spill its seas of scarlet and gold and rose ichor into Hannah O'Leary's skies.

The sun falls to rise again; phoenixes do not die.

with shortness of breath
i'll explain the infinite
how rare and beautiful it truly is
that we exist

. . .

table: fox
lyrics: saturn by sleeping at last
& an instrumental song here.

[permission from grim to powerplay saxton in this post]

Last Edit: Nov 14, 2015 20:26:17 GMT -5 by я𝑜𝓈𝑒

"even stars burn out."

я𝑜𝓈𝑒
Mentor

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perihelion. {sunrise iv} | for hannah Nov 15, 2015 22:06:31 GMT -5

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Post by я𝑜𝓈𝑒 on Nov 15, 2015 22:06:31 GMT -5

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Oh. My. God. These Games have been insane, stressful, but absolutely phenomenal. There are so many people to thank for this wonderful, albeit a bit short, experience. Although Hannah's death has left me devastated, I loved every moment of writing her, especially her final posts. I have only words of kindness and joy, none of despair and bitterness over these Games. In its own way, her death is a blessing: like Hannah, I get to have my own sunfall and sunrise.

Initially I had promised myself I wouldn't make my acknowledgements long, that I would keep it short and sweet. But there is far too to say and a few sentences for each person who contributed to this amazing experience doesn't cut it. I already know this is going to be super long and emotionally, everywhere, so hold on for this word vomit of all my feels condensed into paragraphs.

(And apologies that these are so late, these thank you's are over 1k I swear)

THUNDY. There seems to be infinite words I need to say. I owe you so, so much, for everything. Your friendship, your support, Hannah, Annora threading/plotting, this experience, wonderful threads - so, so much. Without you, there would be no Hannah O’Leary, and I wouldn’t have gotten the opportunity to write her, or so much as dream her. I will never be able to thank you or repay you enough for all of this. I remember when I returned, you messaged me immediately asking if I wanted to play Hannah again, and I will never forget that moment; words cannot describe how overjoyed I was. I remember seeing that yellow name in my inbox, "Warren Whip, Gamemaker" and I swear my heart rate accelerated and I was just thinking, "WHO ARE YOUUUU?!?!" but then I realized that it was you. x3 Thank you, thank you, thank you a thousand times for everything you have done. You kept me sane and level headed when so much stress about the Games was resting on my shoulders. When my mind was going crazy, overthinking one specific thing, you were sharp and clear. I adore our conversations [especially that feels chat, omg, and the bartender ;;;;))))] and your attitude and personality as a whole.

I look forward to reading more of Colgate and the beloved Bro'Leary ship for years to come. I'm sorry I have left him without his baby sister, but her death was most certainly not in vain. I feel so blessed that minutes after the reaping, you added me to a group chat with you and Kire requesting to ally with me, which later Grim joined. <3 I had so much fun allying with you, developing SLASH (though sadly, we didn't get very far into actually writing it </3), and reading Annora (her dialogue though XD). I am terribly sorry that she was insta'd, but know I was so happy to have you and Annora in these Games, and especially as allies.

GRIM. Grimmyyyy! I can’t believe I barely knew you before these Games. I am so glad we became friends so quickly, and our threading between Hannah and Saxton was so beautifully gay and absolutely phenomenal. Your positivity kept me going, even after I was so discouraged after the bloodbath. You kept pushing and said that there was hope, and you were right. Thank you for making me realize that it was just a bump in the road and we were going to make it through whatever the Games hit us with. Even when I knew the fight between us and Helter Skelter would end with Hannah's death, you continued to tell me that I could make it. Although she ended up losing her life, you kept the light shining in the dark.

I value your friendship so much, and I hope that it continues to grow as time goes by. You slayed with Saxton in these Games, and I was so heartbroken when she met her end. She was amazing, and definitely one of my favorites. I love you, Grimmy, and I'll always remember your phenomenal Saxton. <33

KIRE. Oh my god, it was so wonderful to ally with you again. Thank you for putting up with me and my many worries about the Games a second time. <3 Your spreadsheets give me life and you keep the alliance so grounded. Without you, we may have been all over the place - me most of all. x3 You’re always there to rationalize and calm me down when I’m overthinking everything and going out of my mind. Even when things were getting bleak after the bloodbath and during the Helter Skelter fight, you never forgot to remind me that it wasn't over until Hannah reached 40 damage. I really needed that push, however small or big, to maintain the optimism that I have.

I loved the relationship between our characters these games, though Hannah won't be able to say all the things I wanted her to say and interact with Someith more (though we should totally finish those TC threads). I can’t wait to see you and Someith fight on. I'll be keeping a close watch on Hook, and let me know if you need anything. I'm not out of the Games, not until it ends. <33

I also wanted to thank you for Cordelia and Scope, for their first and final threads with Hannah. I was so overjoyed when you created Siren Baitwell's doppleganger and plotted out a romance between her and Colgate. Those threads were and still are my lifeblood, and the chat dedicated to our raging feels will never leave my mind or my heart.

TRISTEN. ur ok

No way, I’m kidding. <3 Tristen, let me just start with this: you are beyond amazing in every possible way. I fucking love you, man. I am so, so blessed and proud to call you my friend. You were another one of the first people to scratch the surface of my life offline. I never imagined I would make friends like the ones I have on the site, especially not ones that truly touched my heart. After so much happened and I was so stressed out, you let me vent all of my problems and feelings to you and made me feel so much better. Thank you for always listening and consoling me. Thank you for always knowing what to say to make every dark situation just bright enough for me to continue on. Thank you for being my emotional backbone when mine had collapsed under all the pressure and stress. I owe part of my sanity to you.

I was so unstable and absolutely shocked when I saw the final blow on Hannah, and you were one of the first respondents. You messaged me to make sure I was okay, and I am so grateful for that. I usually put on a strong face and tuck my bad emotions away no matter what the situation is or what I'm feeling, but I love knowing there is no shame in feeling something other than happiness around you. Just being there to listen to me and lift me up from whatever rut I'm stuck in has helped me so much.

I loved musing Hannah 2.0 with you and planning out AU threads between Hannah and Paige, which I look forward to so, so much. Thank you for giving me the chance to play Hannah just a little more as I prepare to finally let her go.

DARS. Darren, there is so much to be said here, so I’ll try not to write 1k. First, I'll start with this: thank you so much for Abrannah, although it was a biiiit short lived. But still pretty awesome and we did some great plotting, and ayyy we won couple of the month, which is amazing. <3 AND NOW FOR THE GUSHY PART OF THIS.

I will never forget when you sent me that PM asking for a one night stand between my darling, Juliet, and Dustyn, who became a tribute these Games (whICH BROKE MY HEART BUT ALSO <333!!). That thread was amazing, as are you, but most of all it was the beginning of our friendship. Before we became friends, no one knew my real name, or what I look like. You were the first person I opened up to - and that is something I don’t do often. Thank you for pulling me out of my shell. <3

I still remember when I was intimidated by you and your gorgeous writing - I can’t fathom why anymore: you’re really just a little cloud who bounces around and spreads sunshine and glitter everywhere. I am so glad I let go of my shyness and let you (and the SQUAD) into my life. I love our conversations into the late night and your sass. I seriously live for your jokes and commentary; you always seem to know exactly what to say to make me laugh. x3 I keep looking back on reaping night, and every time I do, I cherish those moments even more. You put up with me and my hyperventilating when Hannah’s name was called. Thank you for always dealing with me and my rambling about basically everything and all of my worries. Thank you for being there. One thousand <3’s to you, Darlena.

AVALON. -hands tiara- OMG MOTHER! I don't even know how I'm supposed to fit everything into little paragraphs. You are so, so amazing and I am so blessed to call you my friend. Thank you for taking the time to actually know me, and putting up with my craziness all the time. It's so weird to think that only a few months ago, I barely knew you and you were just a stranger who I admired. <33 Bless you three billion times, Jaylene.

Thank you for so much for your kind words about Hannah and my writing. When I was so shaken up by Hannah's death and people's reaction towards it, you were there to calm me down and make sure I was okay. You are such a wonderful friend, Jaylene. <33 I look up to you a lot, and you are definitely a big role model for me, especially when it comes to writing. And boi, I better see you in future Games because your tributes light my heart on fire with feels. Just shatter me with FEELS, Jaylen, it will be amazing and I will cry to you. <33

MYLEE. There are not a lot of people who I would want to lose Hannah to, but trust me, I am so glad it was Cody who killed her, in all honesty. I love the way you wrote him, and just your writing in general. <33 You're up there on my list of writing queens and role models, Myleene, and I love talking to you - your jokes and sass are my lifeblood. I am so sorry about what happened to Cody, but know that he was absolutely adored and was one of my personal favorites throughout his time in the Games.

Thank you for being so kind after Hannah died, for making sure I was alright, and for honoring my wish to change the severed leg to a deep gash on her chest. I was worried that Hannah would die in a way I didn't want her to, but you allowed me a perfect death. I got to die at the hands of a tribute for the first time, and I loved that. Just know that I could never, ever be angry at you for killing her. I would say I forgive you, but there is nothing to forgive at all. <33

ZOË. QUEEN! Ohmygod so I'm going to try not to ramble but you are seriously amazing, and I love you and your writing. <33 Thank you so much for your compliments toward Hannah posts. Coming from you, that meant so, so much. Thank you for the thread between Hannah and Saffron - it was always a dream of mine to thread with Saffron, and bless you for making that wish come true. Agh, you are so amazing, Zoe! I love talking to you and I hope our friendship continues to grow. <3 When you make jokes they BURN and I adore it. Just drag Tristen with me everyday please. <33 (We love you, Tris!)

DARS, TRISTEN, AVALON, ZOE, AND MYLEE. I thought I should thank this group of people as a whole as well as thanking each individually. Each of you have pushed me to become a better writer and put more into my characters, because I know that you will be reading it. I look up to each of you so much, and I have learned and grown especially in my writing thanks to you guys. Every single one of you makes my passion for writing stronger and stronger with each word I type, and the encouraging feedback I receive is heartwarming. And I love that one group chat, oh my god. Our conversations reaching into the late night are ridiculous but golden. I am so grateful that y'all have reached into my life beyond the site and have really gotten to know me beyond a faceless name on a screen. Bless each and every one of you. <33

ARX. Just because I adore you and Jequirity. <33 She is definitely one of my favorite tributes in the 71st, and I wish you the very best in the future of these Games. Thank you for your friendship, and for being in this funeral thread. I adore every post you make with Jack and I am so honored that you have given me the opportunity to play her sister! <3 You hit me right in the feels with every word you write with your tribute. Keep fighting with KIIIIIINNNGGGG Jack!

KAY & AYA. Both of you are amazing beyond words. I love this GM pairing and the Games you two have put together with your beautifully wicked minds. <33 The two of you are not only wonderful GMs but also amazing role models - I look up to the two of you, both who you are as a people and your writing. Thank you for putting up with all of my questions and for your supportive words after Hannah's death, both of you. There are endless things to say here, but I should probably keep things a bit shorter because I keep rambling, whoops. x3 Kay, you are seriously a goddess and your kindness warms my heart, and I look forward to more Capricious in the future, even though I was sad that Glamour got demoted. </3 <3 Aya, thank you for running this site and putting up with so much. I love your writing, your characters, the jokes you make, oh my god. <3

And one more shoutout to Kay - PLEASE KEEP SHATTERING MY HEART WITH GLAMOUR POSTS! I live for them! <3

CAMERON. DUDE okay first off, you're fucking awesome. Your tribute these games was by far the most hilarious, and I crack up reading Heather posts. She adds the perfect amount of humor to the dark setting of the arena, and I absolutely love the contrast. I adore our talks and your jokes, and you were so supportive of Hannah from start to finish. <33 Your kind words warmed my heart before and after she died. Thank you so much for everything, Cam, and I really hope to see Heather get far. Keep fighting with her and seriously, hit me up for threading always! <3

KIAH. I just wanted to say thank you for the last minute friendship between Hannah & Clio. Our JB thread was fire and so was that oneshot after she died. <33 Thank you for allowing me to grow her just a bit more, and for your kindness after Hannah hit 40 damage.

CAIT. You were the first person I threaded Hannah with, and I loved our thread. Thank you for your support after her death, and for finishing her first thread. I felt so complete when I read that breathtaking post you made with Olete. <33

FOX. Another one of my writing queens! <3 I absolutely adore you and your spectacular writing. Seriously, you should be an author. Thank you for letting me use your tables for this entire thread, they make my posts super pretty. :3 I love our chats, always, and how kind you are. I send all my love to you all the way to Canadia! <33

NYTE & KOUSEI. Thank you guys for those JB threads with Hannah. <3 It was the first time and last time the O'Leary siblings threaded together, and I loved it. I'm sorry I didn't have the time to reply, but perhaps if it is allowed as it is in the TC, we could finish those threads. <33 And Nyte, I loved you in the Games this time around. I am so sorry for what happened to Draco. I wish you would have gotten farther, but unfortunately, instas happen. </3 I really do hope to see you in future Games, because your tributes are amazing and I absolutely adore your writing.

SUPPORTERS. To name a few, Cameron, Lalia, Ghosty, Cait, Marree, Tristen, Aya, Anzie, Avalon, Dars, Muffin, Mylee, Kay, among so, so many other wonderful people. I thought it was very necessary to thank everyone who supported Hannah and I throughout the Games. I remember after she died, my DM's blew up, as did the games chat, with heart warming messages from so many different people. I burst into the tears when I saw those messages, not out of sadness, but shock and pure joy at the enormous amount of support I received. Thank you. <33 Each of you made Hannah's death a much brighter moment for me, and I am forever grateful for that.

And betters, I'm sorry I wasted your money, but thank you for having faith in Hannah.

{Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy] grim. Kire eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars] heather - d2 [mylee] Avalon ✨ zozo. arx!! Baby Wessex d9b [earthling] aya k!ah cameron Cait lucius branwen / 10 — fox maverick hale 🌧️ d5 [nyte] kousei ♚}

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table: fox.

Last Edit: Nov 16, 2015 0:02:34 GMT -5 by я𝑜𝓈𝑒

"even stars burn out."