01-25-2019, 06:35 PM
living for the past
because the future's gone. praying in the dark that you won't go home. i should've said it better, i should've set fire to a letter. but i could run to your apartment, hope i get it started better than before; and i could write it in a poem, pretend i used to know you better than before.
It takes her too long to reach Silver Cove. By the time she arrives, the winter weather does little to soothe the perspiration that darkens her swollen body. If this journey were under normal circumstances, Wishbone is certain she could have traveled from the common-lands into Silver Cove in a simpler amount of time. Even under the conditions of the weather (a blizzard had wound itself along the edges of Hyaline’s mountains over the course of a day and a night, forcing her to sweat within the protection of a cave in the foothills before it was clear enough to leave), she would have made better time than this. The blackness of the infection paired with the weight of growing twins has slowed her down tremendously, and she is happy to finally reach the border of the Cove.
The whisperings among the dying in the sparse forests had led Wishbone to Silver Cove in search of that dear family. In her short passage among Tephra’s relocated borders, the mahogany had smelled nothing of her parents (nor of Tangerine, who might’ve indicated Warrick’s presence) and that fact alone had concerned Wishbone. Had her parents fallen ill under the weight of the plague? Had Solace or Svedka or Kagerus? Despite the sickness leaking into every pore of her body and despite the discomfort of growing a pair of twins in her womb, the Nerinian had been hellbent on checking on her family — distance be damned.
Their scents are faint across the border, riding on a winter breeze lined with salt and pine. Wishbone doesn’t feel any fear in crossing into Silver Cove, especially when the twins decide to twist mightly at the same time. They are growing quickly, stretching her sleek sides into something much heavier-looking and less attractive. Wishbone spends each morning coughing herself awake and cursing Ivar between strangled breaths. However, the love of her own mother has been working in her vessels and she can’t help but twist to nudge her side as one of the twins presses their growing hoof against the wall of its confines.
The whisperings among the dying in the sparse forests had led Wishbone to Silver Cove in search of that dear family. In her short passage among Tephra’s relocated borders, the mahogany had smelled nothing of her parents (nor of Tangerine, who might’ve indicated Warrick’s presence) and that fact alone had concerned Wishbone. Had her parents fallen ill under the weight of the plague? Had Solace or Svedka or Kagerus? Despite the sickness leaking into every pore of her body and despite the discomfort of growing a pair of twins in her womb, the Nerinian had been hellbent on checking on her family — distance be damned.
Their scents are faint across the border, riding on a winter breeze lined with salt and pine. Wishbone doesn’t feel any fear in crossing into Silver Cove, especially when the twins decide to twist mightly at the same time. They are growing quickly, stretching her sleek sides into something much heavier-looking and less attractive. Wishbone spends each morning coughing herself awake and cursing Ivar between strangled breaths. However, the love of her own mother has been working in her vessels and she can’t help but twist to nudge her side as one of the twins presses their growing hoof against the wall of its confines.
@[Solace] / @[Kagerus] / whoop whoop time is fake and wishbone is still pregnant and sick; also it's winter <3