relive your darkest — angel. & eve.

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napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.
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relive your darkest — angel. & eve. Dec 12, 2018 12:05:52 GMT -5

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Post by napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Dec 12, 2018 12:05:52 GMT -5

Regrets collect like old friends
Here to relive your darkest moments
I can see no way, I can see no way
And all of the ghouls come out to play

Caressing the patch over where my left eye used to be, I fathom about how I died. How the light receded like a poignant tide, and how darkness flowed in the empty space it left. How it was quiet, painless, fleeting. I could feel the entire world's heartbeat then, rushing ahead of my own, never slowing down.

It's so severely wrong to reverse a rite of passage. I was dying there, afloat over the tide pools, saltwater in the lungs, the promise of heaven broadcasted across the skies. I accepted the end. I understood it. I digested it whole and managed to not spit it out even though the bitterness was intolerable.

Watching Anatalia mourn an empty space is absurd, and the sight brings another flavor of rot to the mouth - the taste of betrayal. There was no mercy to her knife. She meant to kill, not wound, and she almost succeeded. But, Glamour Kinkade decides that it takes more than a silver's bite and a seamless aim to make an angel fall from worthless grace.

Icarus with his beeswax wings, is not me.

The bread is coarse and insipid, its grains sticking to my palms, but it sates the bottomless hunger to an extent. No more hollow stomachs. No more digging through shrubberies in search of edible flora. No more of the tragedies. Perhaps, I should be relieved.

Thoughts are cut short as footsteps enter the dining area, accompanied by a face that belongs to the dead. Eve Renner's skin has not lost its sallowness, flesh barely clinging onto the bones, and I realize with a quiet horror that it is a trademark we all share now. Walking skeletons that are left unburied with all their guilt and fury.

She shows teeth but no words come from the small intervals between them - only a snarl. And, I am as paralyzed as I was with Anatalia, eyes adhered to her demented features as she rushes onward with all her fury and rage.

Her fists are sticks and stones,
and each one tries
to break my bones.

A laugh, a callousness.
“So, you did not fall.”

And every demon wants his pound of flesh
But I like to keep some things to myself
I like to keep my issues strong
It's always darkest before the dawn

[ lyrics + title : shake it out — florence ]

Last Edit: Dec 12, 2018 12:10:17 GMT -5 by napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.

堕落天使

Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]
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relive your darkest — angel. & eve. Dec 16, 2018 15:02:43 GMT -5

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Post by Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy] on Dec 16, 2018 15:02:43 GMT -5

Happiness hit her
like a bullet in the back
Struck from a great height
by someone who should know better than that

They took me off the breathing tube after a short time, citing a precautionary measure just in case my newly-healed lungs didn’t work properly. It’s the anesthesia, they said, and my District Two heart would have paid more attention to their medical ramblings if I could focus past the pain.

Because that’s the thing about healing, about growing, about moving on in the world:

It hurts the whole way through. Wounds heal, but they take time, and some things never set properly.

Like the pain in my heart when I see Angel de Costa’s face.

So, fall, he whispered in the arena, right before his weapon sliced into the flesh of my back.

The last wound.

I see his face, and I grit my teeth against the memory.

My leg--

My leg won’t work right. There’s too many injuries in the calf, making it hard to walk. My hand’s all torn up, the thumb sewed back on without much feeling, with only a hint of coordination. There are scars across this hand that will never heal.

And my face--

It’s healing, but my cheek is torn and burned. I’ll have this ugly mark for the rest of my life.

I don’t know-- I don’t know if it matters to me. But I will never be beautiful, and I have to be okay with that.

When I look at Angel de Costa, I feel a sort of melancholy in my heart that won’t let go. It whispers you’re never going to be okay, because of him, and you won’t survive this cruel world, even if you try, and you don’t have the guts to fight for yourself.

I’m injured all the way through, mind and body. So even though my leg doesn’t carry me the way it did before,

even though my hand’s lost feeling,

even though I shouldn’t,

I scorch the distance between the two of us,

fists struggling with all my might

(which isn’t much)

against his chest.

From some other world, I hear myself hollering at him,

something unintelligible on repeat,

but it might be

“YOU HURT ME, YOU HURT ME, YOU HURT ME… “

until the Peacekeepers pull me off of him,

and as they pull me away I see Angel smirk,

and he says “So, you did not fall"

like my life

is nothing but a joke.