the Cypress Gardens ~~ Iris//Arcadia //OPEN
May 22, 2019 17:27:44 GMT -5
Post by Arrows on May 22, 2019 17:27:44 GMT -5
Arcadia
They were like puzzles to her, the torn-tattered tethers of old leather bound books. Ancient in the intricacy of their design, yet intimate in the sewn folds of their layers. But the fascination of her gliding fingers over the books' back does not simply amount to the extravagance of their archaic exterior. What lies dormant within their pressed parchment pages perhaps surpasses even the excitement stirred by the beauty of their bindings. Silent stories waiting in scribbled ink to be risen from the hibernation of their dusty shelves by the imaginative illumination of interested eyes. Worlds written into existence by the dreams of those passed just waiting, urging for a hand to turn to the first page.
Alas, her eyes have already carried a lantern through the caverns and flown over the mountains materialized by the brilliance of these authors, more than just once. She has walked hand in hand with their heroes and fallen into the flowers of eternal quiet alongside their tragic endings. Where they cry, she has cried three times. Where they laugh, she has laughed four times. Where they have lived, she has only lived through them. A youthful spirit tied early to the post of Motherhood and recruited by the dictatorship of Duty. She has already used these books more than a handful of times to escape, and each time the further from their sanctuary she finds herself.
Today she holds no book as she emerges from the silence of the library.
"Sis, you're going out?" Her young brother's voice breaks the daze of her shadowed stare. "Yes, I'm going for a walk. I'll be back soon, lunch is waiting for you inside." He is gone behind the worn wooden door of their domain in an instant, a child not born from her womb but tethered to her like the binding of her own leather exterior. He is hungry from his day at school. Arcadia's gaze winds its way through the entanglement of the old oak trees overhead as a sigh slips off her lips and onto the blossoming summer's breeze. She actually misses the dreary days of desks and gossip. Her days of childhood feel so lost somewhere within the mists of her memories. Her gaze drops and she continues onward.
The walk is short from the burgeoning oak trees to the fine hedges and floral escapades. Birds rustle through the emerging green of summer's arrival and the flowers radiate brightly in anticipation for the season of sun. Arcadia's brown hair runs in rivets of warmth across the back of her neck embracing the kiss of the clear day. Out of habit, she assumes that she is alone walking the small length of stones and listening to the voice of nature. However, a small surprise settles through her skin when she finds another girl lost in the symphony of slipping water, a rare fountain here in District Seven. Arcadia questions for a moment whether to simply wander on, but instead draws closer before sitting on the fountain's edge and tracing its water's smooth surface with the tips of her fingers.
"It's lovely out today, isn't it? Makes me wish everyday was like this."
Alas, her eyes have already carried a lantern through the caverns and flown over the mountains materialized by the brilliance of these authors, more than just once. She has walked hand in hand with their heroes and fallen into the flowers of eternal quiet alongside their tragic endings. Where they cry, she has cried three times. Where they laugh, she has laughed four times. Where they have lived, she has only lived through them. A youthful spirit tied early to the post of Motherhood and recruited by the dictatorship of Duty. She has already used these books more than a handful of times to escape, and each time the further from their sanctuary she finds herself.
Today she holds no book as she emerges from the silence of the library.
"Sis, you're going out?" Her young brother's voice breaks the daze of her shadowed stare. "Yes, I'm going for a walk. I'll be back soon, lunch is waiting for you inside." He is gone behind the worn wooden door of their domain in an instant, a child not born from her womb but tethered to her like the binding of her own leather exterior. He is hungry from his day at school. Arcadia's gaze winds its way through the entanglement of the old oak trees overhead as a sigh slips off her lips and onto the blossoming summer's breeze. She actually misses the dreary days of desks and gossip. Her days of childhood feel so lost somewhere within the mists of her memories. Her gaze drops and she continues onward.
The walk is short from the burgeoning oak trees to the fine hedges and floral escapades. Birds rustle through the emerging green of summer's arrival and the flowers radiate brightly in anticipation for the season of sun. Arcadia's brown hair runs in rivets of warmth across the back of her neck embracing the kiss of the clear day. Out of habit, she assumes that she is alone walking the small length of stones and listening to the voice of nature. However, a small surprise settles through her skin when she finds another girl lost in the symphony of slipping water, a rare fountain here in District Seven. Arcadia questions for a moment whether to simply wander on, but instead draws closer before sitting on the fountain's edge and tracing its water's smooth surface with the tips of her fingers.
"It's lovely out today, isn't it? Makes me wish everyday was like this."