in a week || roommates day 1 leisure
Oct 17, 2020 21:58:41 GMT -5
Post by maverick hale 🌧️ d5 [nyte] on Oct 17, 2020 21:58:41 GMT -5
was i made from a broken mold?
It's funny how thoroughly fear eclipses shame. I'm wound through Lora's fingers, silver threading gold, and I chase her like dusk does the dawn. Frigid air seems to be burning me from the inside out, every breath urging on this inevitable avalanche. The cold coaxes tears into the corners of my eyes, her lips pressed gently against them so as to keep them from falling. Its cruel, but surprisingly gentle.
Every rational part of me knows I shouldn't be standing. I cannot feel my legs beneath me, even as they threaten to give out from the strain of this sprint. Adrenaline rushes are not so potent as I was let to believe. I'm being turned inside out, bleeding from a thousand cuts so that I may taste my own panic with every labored exhale.
I think I'm supposed to care that I've just made myself into a coward. In a single moment my crown has shattered and left me looking no different than the court jester. And I know better than most that it doesn't matter who I truly am beneath it all. There's so much to me that no one has ever seen, so much that no one ever will. And I know I'm supposed to care so much about that.
I don't know why I don't.
"Lora." I speak her name with blatant desperation, leaning into the way it grates against my throat. She needs to see me right now. She needs to know I've found my ending and that whatever sweet fantasy we thought we were chasing is a cause long lost. "Stop." I say while gripping her hand tighter, stumbling over my feet as the terrain turns a minty green from frost covered grass.
I regret every promise I ever made her. If I've learned anything about about Vallora Seth in the short time we've been together is that she is everything I've never been brave enough to be.
(A survivor, for one.)
It happens in an instant. Fate tears me away from her because it knows I'd never do it myself. I'm half-falling, half wrenching myself forward with unspent momentum. My stomach lurches into my throat and I think I scream as her hand is torn from mine. Day turns to evening as my head connects hard with the ground, stars swimming in my vision as I fight through a daze to find the source of the pain currently lancing up my side.
I'm sunk, knee deep in a fucking hole. Torn cloth and fresh blood congeal in the dirt and I laugh as I watch it drip, pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes to obscure the exact moment they turn to broken sobs.
"Keep going." I don't look at her.
I'm not a martyr, I promise.
Every rational part of me knows I shouldn't be standing. I cannot feel my legs beneath me, even as they threaten to give out from the strain of this sprint. Adrenaline rushes are not so potent as I was let to believe. I'm being turned inside out, bleeding from a thousand cuts so that I may taste my own panic with every labored exhale.
I think I'm supposed to care that I've just made myself into a coward. In a single moment my crown has shattered and left me looking no different than the court jester. And I know better than most that it doesn't matter who I truly am beneath it all. There's so much to me that no one has ever seen, so much that no one ever will. And I know I'm supposed to care so much about that.
I don't know why I don't.
"Lora." I speak her name with blatant desperation, leaning into the way it grates against my throat. She needs to see me right now. She needs to know I've found my ending and that whatever sweet fantasy we thought we were chasing is a cause long lost. "Stop." I say while gripping her hand tighter, stumbling over my feet as the terrain turns a minty green from frost covered grass.
I regret every promise I ever made her. If I've learned anything about about Vallora Seth in the short time we've been together is that she is everything I've never been brave enough to be.
(A survivor, for one.)
It happens in an instant. Fate tears me away from her because it knows I'd never do it myself. I'm half-falling, half wrenching myself forward with unspent momentum. My stomach lurches into my throat and I think I scream as her hand is torn from mine. Day turns to evening as my head connects hard with the ground, stars swimming in my vision as I fight through a daze to find the source of the pain currently lancing up my side.
I'm sunk, knee deep in a fucking hole. Torn cloth and fresh blood congeal in the dirt and I laugh as I watch it drip, pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes to obscure the exact moment they turn to broken sobs.
"Keep going." I don't look at her.
I'm not a martyr, I promise.
ALISTAIR GALE
[receives sponsorship and all that jazz]
[we'll pick up the knife too, as a treat]