Painted Memories of a Shared Lover [Mylee/Tom VT]

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Kingston Cesaire D3A [Tom]
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Painted Memories of a Shared Lover [Mylee/Tom VT] May 28, 2017 0:05:44 GMT -5

Post by Kingston Cesaire D3A [Tom] on May 28, 2017 0:05:44 GMT -5

Muse Stratos

There's no such thing as love.

It's as clear as the day's sky that shines above him. Love wasn't real. That's why he didn't want to get involved. That's why he didn't even say goodbye to Lucas. There was no way of stopping an artist from experiencing the creations that lay within the confines of a cage. Struggles were the greatest muse for all artists and outcasts to paint away until their hearts could feel whole again. That's how the piece of art under his arms was made. A series of passionate swishing of paintbrush to paint to canvas for him to realize that he wasn't okay.

There's no more tears for him.

He's broken down too much in one game for a man who never truly knew who he was. There was no reason to love a dead man, but caring for him was still possible. That's why he was there. People who waited to see the one and only Shelby Leviane. He waited for her to end up alone and away from the commotion of District Nine celebrating her victory, even if she did kill Lucas O'Hara. They were all fake. Creatures wearing masks to hide their true intentions on the inside from a broken woman that had killed too many people. They were like his parents. Their masks hiding the truth that they all were monsters wearing masks of beauty and fame.

As he approaches the queen of hurricanes that thrashed Lucas O'Hara, until stabbing him in the neck, his heart quickens. There's fear in him that wonders if she wanted to kill them. If she wanted to end it all for them. The canvas under his arm is hidden away from all eyes to see, instead he lets out the breath that he's holding. The nerves disappear as he approaches the girl who he didn't know in person, but knew from watching her upon screens that glow with death. As he can feel the air tense around his body, the voice in his mind tells him to run and never look back, but he's so tired of running away. It's the reason that he lost Lucas O'Hara in the first place.

His voice finds it's escape to Shelby Leviane, victor of the seventy fifth hunger games.

"Ms. Leviane. Was it painless?"

There's no such thing as love.

Only the feeling of loss exists in black strokes of paint.

"Was it painless for Lucas when you killed him?"

Last Edit: May 28, 2017 0:06:19 GMT -5 by Kingston Cesaire D3A [Tom]

Made by umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]

heather - d2 [mylee]
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Painted Memories of a Shared Lover [Mylee/Tom VT] May 30, 2017 15:16:32 GMT -5

Post by heather - d2 [mylee] on May 30, 2017 15:16:32 GMT -5

Shelby {♔} Leviane

District Nine is peculiarly similar to Eight, save the patriotism.

Eight was all pride with no limits, banners and cheering and my name said in too many voices to count. They called me the life-water and the end of the great drought, but still my throat was dry and my tongue swelled. The songs all swayed to the same rhythm, and I was expected to do the same.

But here in Nine, it was the simple air of loss surrounding the district. Lucas O’Hara hailed from here— a boy with a soft smile and harsh lines accenting his body, a shape I knew too well. We had been intimate twice, once inside and once outside of the arena. The former had led us to the point of no return, our blades turned against each other and our hearts heavy.

(“Lucas, if you’ve learned anything from fucking me not once, but twice, it’s that I have no need for excuses of any kind.”

“Touche, Miss Leviane, touche.”)

I see his family from my place upon the stage, all sorrows and sobbing with no retribution in my return. Per the close and the music that now seems less cheery than when played rhythmically in Eight, I am left to follow the suit of greetings and acceptance that their loss would always be my guilt to bear.

“Miss Leviane, was it painless? Was it painless for Lucas when you killed him?”

Not only had I done the disservice of coming home in place of their own, but I had managed to kill the boy who hailed from here. I was the final nail in his casket, the flowers laid on top to wilt and rot under the ground.

Following accusatory words, I am met with the sight of a boy much stronger than I, dark hair and eyes to match much duller than the rest of him. I inhale, preparing to answer another question about death that I truly do not know. It was though survival meant having knowledge bestowed upon you, but I am nothing more than a clueless crown in a kingdom of hungry peoples, “I do not know, but I hope so.”

A pause and a hope for acceptance, “How did you know him?”

Last Edit: May 30, 2017 15:25:37 GMT -5 by heather - d2 [mylee]

Kingston Cesaire D3A [Tom]
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Painted Memories of a Shared Lover [Mylee/Tom VT] Jun 2, 2017 11:21:21 GMT -5

Post by Kingston Cesaire D3A [Tom] on Jun 2, 2017 11:21:21 GMT -5

Muse Stratos

Hope.

A four letter word that puts white strokes of paint over the blackness of the world.

Hope was meant to ease the soul from all the feeling of when a gut falls into the pit of despair. He had painted all night for this day and yet he still wasn't prepared like he had wished to be. The eyes of a girl who wasn't herself anymore. There's hints of who she used to be within a glance of her, but it's as if someone had splattered black upon her colors. The black dripping down into whatever colorful future she had originally had. Her words were true, but he knew that blame wasn't what she needed in a world of blackened hearts.

“I do not know, but I hope so.”

How he hoped so too.

Not only for his sake, but for Shelby Leviane's sake.

A queen of hurricanes that is so strong, but yet so weak in her own state of mind. Survival being the only truth that she had known for weeks where anyone could stab you in the back. Muse could feel the emotions in his chest of wanting to be selfish about Lucas's death, but Miss Leviane didn't need that in her life. Not after everything she's faced in her time of winning and surviving. Ghosts and sins crawl at her back from the past. Her words come forward in a cry for something more in his ears as his grip on the canvas tightens.

“How did you know him?”

It's a simple phrase, but his heart takes it as the most complicated question in the world. They were something, but there wasn't a name for it. Hearts painted red until they turned blue with separation. The paint dripping to the floor in a purple haze of confusion. They were now black with the paint of suffering. A color that Shelby Leviane would have to get used to for the rest of her life. Acceptance was all the world needed to be painted white with hope and reason. He bites his tongue for a moment until he speaks to her with honesty painted upon his tongue.

"He's a shared lover of ours."

There's pain in his heart, but it's the truth.

Lucas O'Hara didn't feel anything for him.

Love doesn't exist.

There's a wind of relief that comes from the phrase in his mind, but the dull ache lies underneath the painted whites and blacks.

"I think I loved him from the moment I met him, but that doesn't matter now."

It's not her fault.

She couldn't have stopped it.

Lucas O'Hara had lost him

"Would you turn back time for someone you wished to see just one more time? Even if it meant risking your own life, Miss Leviane?"

There's a silence as his heart beats quickly with he emotions that he's been feeling for a while since Lucas had left.

The world is full of color, but all he could see was the darkening black that clouded over the white and color.

A four letter word of black and red is all he could feel, that creates the dull ache in his chest.

Love.

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