05-27-2017, 01:15 PM
i'm not going to change, so stay out of my way.
i don't need you to understand that i'm already saved.
The winter was bitter – frigid, and unforgiving in its rough touch, lacking subtlety as it gripped onto the base of her spine, rattling her to the core and stirring a shiver from her too-still form. She had tucked herself away within the darkest corner of the dense thicket, her once glimmering golden skin dim and untouched by the bright sunlight – instead, she is shrouded in a blanket of darkness; a shadow cast across the terse line of her jaw.
She is unmoved by the distant echo of crooning birds, or the rustling of dried leaves across the damp, icy ground somewhere beyond where her eyes could see – her once insatiable curiosity dampened by wretched apathy (which had begun to consume her; gnawing at the frayed edges of her composure). And there, with sharp, dry stems digging between the tender skin between her ribs, and scratching, brittle bark digging into her muscled shoulder, she remained – quiet, brooding, as the sun came and went, its bright light meaning little to her darkened spirit.
The hours eventually faded into days, which inevitably seeped into months. As autumn had become cold and still with winter’s grasp, soon winter fell at the hand of spring, warm and tender as its tepid heat finally penetrated the darkness that had long ago settled into the deepest crooks and bends of the forest. And when a single ray of sunlight finally reaches the plane of her cheek (where too many tears had been shed and dried, though her pallid complexion hid the salty stains from the naked eye), she is roused from her proverbial slumber, blinking away the haze that had fallen over her.
With a low, rumbling sigh, she draws herself away from the solitude she had permitted to take presence in her very bones – enough time had gone by, she decided, and enough time had been wasted. Though her heart still ached for what could not be, the thought of Magnus no longer caused her anguish (he had been so much to her; meant so much to her - he always would) - and the thought of Warrick's lips across her cheek no longer stirred guilt (but perhaps something more dangerous, stirring within the pit of her belly, even now). Her mind had not been well when she found solace in the silence and isolation; the once fortified threads that held her together had become weak, worn and threadbare – but time had its way of mending all things.
When she emerges into the blinding sunlight, it, too, is unforgiving – not in the brutal way that winter was, but her grimacing, sensitive hazel eyes shy away from its light, blinking away the blurred colors and shapes from her gaze. Slowly, her broad wings (carefully preened; and brilliantly white) stretch out and a soft groan of satisfaction rises from her throat – it had been too long since they had touched the brilliant blue of the morning sky. Too long.
But she does not move.
Instead, she bathes in the warmth of dawn, letting the bright sunlight seep into her skin and warm her icy heart, as its steady thrumming unsettles the proverbial icicles that clung to it.
She is unmoved by the distant echo of crooning birds, or the rustling of dried leaves across the damp, icy ground somewhere beyond where her eyes could see – her once insatiable curiosity dampened by wretched apathy (which had begun to consume her; gnawing at the frayed edges of her composure). And there, with sharp, dry stems digging between the tender skin between her ribs, and scratching, brittle bark digging into her muscled shoulder, she remained – quiet, brooding, as the sun came and went, its bright light meaning little to her darkened spirit.
The hours eventually faded into days, which inevitably seeped into months. As autumn had become cold and still with winter’s grasp, soon winter fell at the hand of spring, warm and tender as its tepid heat finally penetrated the darkness that had long ago settled into the deepest crooks and bends of the forest. And when a single ray of sunlight finally reaches the plane of her cheek (where too many tears had been shed and dried, though her pallid complexion hid the salty stains from the naked eye), she is roused from her proverbial slumber, blinking away the haze that had fallen over her.
With a low, rumbling sigh, she draws herself away from the solitude she had permitted to take presence in her very bones – enough time had gone by, she decided, and enough time had been wasted. Though her heart still ached for what could not be, the thought of Magnus no longer caused her anguish (he had been so much to her; meant so much to her - he always would) - and the thought of Warrick's lips across her cheek no longer stirred guilt (but perhaps something more dangerous, stirring within the pit of her belly, even now). Her mind had not been well when she found solace in the silence and isolation; the once fortified threads that held her together had become weak, worn and threadbare – but time had its way of mending all things.
When she emerges into the blinding sunlight, it, too, is unforgiving – not in the brutal way that winter was, but her grimacing, sensitive hazel eyes shy away from its light, blinking away the blurred colors and shapes from her gaze. Slowly, her broad wings (carefully preened; and brilliantly white) stretch out and a soft groan of satisfaction rises from her throat – it had been too long since they had touched the brilliant blue of the morning sky. Too long.
But she does not move.
Instead, she bathes in the warmth of dawn, letting the bright sunlight seep into her skin and warm her icy heart, as its steady thrumming unsettles the proverbial icicles that clung to it.
Ellyse