01-19-2019, 07:08 PM
ryatah
hell is empty and all the devils are here
She has never been one to cling to the past, and yet it always finds her. Not even her dreams replay her past to her; she moves on, she forgets, she is never weighed down by it and yet…her past always resurfaces. They find her, when she least expects it, and she is shaken every time. It is easy to be resolute when they are not next to her. It is easy to be loyal, when their breath isn’t hot against her neck, when their words aren’t conjuring memories she’s long chosen to forget. But once they are there…her resistance is non-existent.
But the girl before her — and maybe if she could see her, she would see something similar in the lovely angles of her face, or the softness of her eyes — is linked to something more innocent. A friendship, though it was born in darkness, and spun from the threads of violence. It had still been something almost pure. Almost — because everything in her life was tainted.
The girl’s statement isn’t lost on her, but it brings only a flash of amusement to her lips. She was used to that happening; either on purpose, by friends she has known so long that it’s not offensive, or on accident, by well-meaning strangers. She says nothing on it, letting it slip past, and instead she simply answers. ”I’ve seen more of Beqanna than most currently living, I would dare to argue.” Their bodies are close again, as she reaches to touch her lips to the younger girl’s forelock, as though another touch might hold the answer to the question she asks next, ”Who is your mother?”
But the girl before her — and maybe if she could see her, she would see something similar in the lovely angles of her face, or the softness of her eyes — is linked to something more innocent. A friendship, though it was born in darkness, and spun from the threads of violence. It had still been something almost pure. Almost — because everything in her life was tainted.
The girl’s statement isn’t lost on her, but it brings only a flash of amusement to her lips. She was used to that happening; either on purpose, by friends she has known so long that it’s not offensive, or on accident, by well-meaning strangers. She says nothing on it, letting it slip past, and instead she simply answers. ”I’ve seen more of Beqanna than most currently living, I would dare to argue.” Their bodies are close again, as she reaches to touch her lips to the younger girl’s forelock, as though another touch might hold the answer to the question she asks next, ”Who is your mother?”
@[Eilidh]