porcelain peace {ansgar vt blitz}

{ a t l a s ;

I wish everything would just stop and stay static.

One minute I'm seeing doors, an array of new pathways and alternate possibilities and opportunities that come with holding the name Lumiere, a title heavier than the weight of the world on my shoulders. To be able to hold something less fragile than family pride on my shoulders and wear something other than a mask of magnificence. Asha Lumiere; a name I draw onto fogged glass and watch fade over time and slowly distort with his human logic. A madman but perhaps a substitute to the puzzle pieces that form a glory I don't think I even want.

A possibility, something so fragile it died with the thrust of a spear when time seemed so static, so viscous.

And fluidity returns when I burst through the doors of the Lumiere manor and find myself drifting down the path, my movement automatic. I never even saw the madman through anything other than a television screen, I never saw him when he was anything but covered in Capitol glamour or blood, whether it was his own or someone else's. All I knew was that he could've been a substitute, an escape route to an open door.

And before I know it I'm in the district square, sweeping, searching for the final chance before any other visitors are barred.

Perhaps I wouldn't have had to carry the world on my shoulders if it wasn't for a god and a fucking spear.

If it wasn't for

"Ansgar."

And I see him, Asha's blood on his hands, splinters from a new door of possibility strewn at his feet.

"I'm Atlas Lumiere but I don't want to fight."

I never saw him through anything other than a television screen anyway.