I see your face in the reflections of the moon; adaline/laura pony - Printable Version +- Beqanna (https://beqanna.com/forum) +-- Forum: Explore (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=1) +--- Forum: The Common Lands (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=72) +---- Forum: Meadow (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=3) +---- Thread: I see your face in the reflections of the moon; adaline/laura pony (/showthread.php?tid=24183) |
I see your face in the reflections of the moon; adaline/laura pony - contagion - 06-30-2019 @[laura] <333 RE: I see your face in the reflections of the moon; adaline/laura pony - adaline - 07-06-2019 I'm wasted, losing time; I'm a foolish, fragile spine in the darkness, I will meet my creators Adaline @[contagion] HI ILY. she's losing her mind a little it's fine. RE: I see your face in the reflections of the moon; adaline/laura pony - contagion - 07-07-2019
For everything he’s been though, he knows little of madness.
He’s been near it – loved it, maybe, if that’s what lay in the wicked gleam in the wolf queen’s eye before she lay waste to him. Was it madness? Or was it simply who she was, and he was too blind to see? He’ll never know. He doesn’t even know if he loved her – if that’s the word for it – because the feelings are all mixed up in fear and sadness and death, and it’s all muddled, and when he thinks back to that time his chest aches for too many reasons, and there’s no name for it. You’d think him an easy target, the way he’s drifted, but he has stayed sane throughout. The idle emptiness is what crept up instead, hours of blankness, and maybe that’s it own kind of madness, those stretches where he cannot remember, winding up in places he has no memory of walking to. And he thinks himself mad, for a moment, because surely this is a vision. Surely the glass woman who approaches, who looks so like him, whose heart beats in time with is, is a hallucination. A thing sprung forth by a mind that was empty for too long. Perhaps this is the end, he thinks, and he only feels gratitude. She speaks, and her voice is as clear as her skin, and his very hair stands on end, because he knows his imagination is not so vivid as this, he could not recreate her in such detail. “Adaline,” he breathes, saying her name after she says his, except – Except she says it’s not. Charity, she says, and he blinks, as if she’ll change form now, and this all was a hallucination, and he’ll apologize to the stranger, and be on his way. But she doesn’t. She is perfectly, exquisitely, Adaline. “You’re not-” he chokes on the word. He only wants to touch her, whether she’s a ghost or a stranger or a vision. “You’re Adaline,” he insists, and whether he’s trying to convince her or himself, he doesn’t know, “you’re Adaline. My sister.” RE: I see your face in the reflections of the moon; adaline/laura pony - adaline - 07-26-2019 I'm wasted, losing time; I'm a foolish, fragile spine in the darkness, I will meet my creators Adaline @[contagion] RE: I see your face in the reflections of the moon; adaline/laura pony - contagion - 07-31-2019 He should have never left her side, he knows, though the circumstances that had separated had been beyond his control. Because he can’t argue all her points. He doesn’t know if, in these years, she’s borne children, or loved, or been loved. He doesn’t know what has transpired, what kind of life she’s lived. But he knows it’s her. He knows her name because he’s murmured it a thousand times, because it haunts him, follows him. He knows her skin, the odd translucence matched in his, the horrifying delicacy of her existence. But how does he convince her of a story to which he only knows part of? (Your name is Adaline, and I love you.) Her question breaks his heart, because belief isn’t the word for it. He has no need for belief, for faith, because the knowledge of his love for her (however it might manifest – this, he does not delve into) is a bone-deep thing, it was formed in that dead woman’s womb as their limbs tangled inside her, and the love never left. It changed, maybe, took a shape that it shouldn’t, but at the core of it, it’s love, it’s love, because she is Adaline and he loves her and he will always love her. But that’s only part of the story. “Of course,” he says, “Tabytha loved you. Garbage loved you.” Their brief, stupid parents – giving them life only to walk into the ocean and end theirs. But it was love nonetheless. “You are so easy to love, Adaline,” he says. As if maybe he could say her name enough that she’d believe it. He is close to her but he does not touch her because he does not trust himself, he is shaking and confused and if he started he might not stop, and that is not the point here, the point is she is Adaline and he doesn’t know this other name, Charity, but he knows it’s wrong. “Please,” he says, begging, though what for, he can’t say, not really. |