10-14-2017, 09:29 PM
Ellyse
she is like a cat in the dark, and then she is the darkness
. She, too, had done the unspeakable.
She could still hear her father’s skull cracking beneath her weight; the way his collapsed esophagus gasped for a final breath of air – she, too, had sinned, and she, too, would bear the weight of her decision. Her pale lips brush across the nape of his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath an entanglement of matted knots, reminding herself over and over that he is breathing and that blood still flowed through his veins with a heady pulse. There is so much to be said, but so much that cannot be uttered – she can feel the hesitance between each labored breath, but she does not need to ask to know that he had faced a fate worse than death, just as she had.
His weight is pressed against her own, and she does not waver, enveloping him with an outstretched wing – ignoring the anguish of a single, splintered bone somewhere beneath the unkempt feathers – and laying her cheek across the ridge of his shoulder. The stench of blood is heavy, but she can only sense the ocean, the thick pluming of ash and smoke – the beads of sweat rising to the surface of his dark, wounded flesh, where his own winged appendages had been torn away from his body. It causes an edge of uneasiness in the pit of her belly; she lost and eye, and he, so much more.
His gentle jest is unexpected, and a breath of laughter emerges from her throat, though her ribcage and lungs both ache from the effort. Her cheek caresses the side of his neck, with a soft murmur reverberating against the column of his throat. ”You are ridiculous,” she says, but there is a tendril of tenderness in her tone that cannot often be found; she is more beholden to him than he can imagine for his humor.
Quietly, unshed tears stain her unmarred cheek, as the heaviness of their suffering threatens to suffocate her. She does not attempt to hide her anguish from him – he was suffering, too – her children, Ledger - the mere mention of his name is enough to stir her stomach into another knot, though the anger had since ebbed, replaced with regret.
”Smoak is wise beyond his own years,” she murmurs softly, with the shadow of a smirk hiding within the corner of her pale mouth – fleeting, but present. ”he obviously did not get that from you.” And then, the humor is gone. ”He was so worried, Dahmer, he thought that we –“ she breathes, hardening her resolve. ”he thought what we thought. That all was lost. Joaquin and Joplin are well -- he kept watch over them.”
And Ledger?
”Ledger –“ she begins, but it is difficult to form the words, which become hollow and empty within her throat. ”—he is not well. He lashed out at Smoak, and I barely managed to keep him from hurting him. He is .. unstable, deranged,” she murmurs, uncertainty laced in her pained words, but finally – ”he is as lost as we are.”
”I know you did, Dahmer,” she whispers softly against the crest of his ear, draping her neck over his once more, as the tangled ivory of her tresses blend with the darkness of his own. ”you saved me. If not for you, the wolves –“ the wolves of fire, of brimstone and magma that had nearly taken her life ”— I worried for you, too. I thought that ..”
Her voice catches, and she cannot speak anymore, overcome and breathless both.
She could still hear her father’s skull cracking beneath her weight; the way his collapsed esophagus gasped for a final breath of air – she, too, had sinned, and she, too, would bear the weight of her decision. Her pale lips brush across the nape of his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath an entanglement of matted knots, reminding herself over and over that he is breathing and that blood still flowed through his veins with a heady pulse. There is so much to be said, but so much that cannot be uttered – she can feel the hesitance between each labored breath, but she does not need to ask to know that he had faced a fate worse than death, just as she had.
His weight is pressed against her own, and she does not waver, enveloping him with an outstretched wing – ignoring the anguish of a single, splintered bone somewhere beneath the unkempt feathers – and laying her cheek across the ridge of his shoulder. The stench of blood is heavy, but she can only sense the ocean, the thick pluming of ash and smoke – the beads of sweat rising to the surface of his dark, wounded flesh, where his own winged appendages had been torn away from his body. It causes an edge of uneasiness in the pit of her belly; she lost and eye, and he, so much more.
His gentle jest is unexpected, and a breath of laughter emerges from her throat, though her ribcage and lungs both ache from the effort. Her cheek caresses the side of his neck, with a soft murmur reverberating against the column of his throat. ”You are ridiculous,” she says, but there is a tendril of tenderness in her tone that cannot often be found; she is more beholden to him than he can imagine for his humor.
Quietly, unshed tears stain her unmarred cheek, as the heaviness of their suffering threatens to suffocate her. She does not attempt to hide her anguish from him – he was suffering, too – her children, Ledger - the mere mention of his name is enough to stir her stomach into another knot, though the anger had since ebbed, replaced with regret.
”Smoak is wise beyond his own years,” she murmurs softly, with the shadow of a smirk hiding within the corner of her pale mouth – fleeting, but present. ”he obviously did not get that from you.” And then, the humor is gone. ”He was so worried, Dahmer, he thought that we –“ she breathes, hardening her resolve. ”he thought what we thought. That all was lost. Joaquin and Joplin are well -- he kept watch over them.”
And Ledger?
”Ledger –“ she begins, but it is difficult to form the words, which become hollow and empty within her throat. ”—he is not well. He lashed out at Smoak, and I barely managed to keep him from hurting him. He is .. unstable, deranged,” she murmurs, uncertainty laced in her pained words, but finally – ”he is as lost as we are.”
”I know you did, Dahmer,” she whispers softly against the crest of his ear, draping her neck over his once more, as the tangled ivory of her tresses blend with the darkness of his own. ”you saved me. If not for you, the wolves –“ the wolves of fire, of brimstone and magma that had nearly taken her life ”— I worried for you, too. I thought that ..”
Her voice catches, and she cannot speak anymore, overcome and breathless both.
she rules her life like a fine skylark, and when the sky is starless
@[Dahmer]