how it can hold me up and kill me in the end; vulgaris

[leliana]

leliana

she said “oh, I know that love is all about the wind
how it can hold me up and kill me in the end”

It hurts to stand here before him, to feel it all come back and rush through her. It hurts to feel all of the edges and the broken glass in the back of her throat—to know all of the different ways that she has fallen apart in the recent months. It is easy to think back to a time when she had thought she had been broken, when she had stood next to a river and let it flood in her, when he had come with his handsome face and held her and loved her and pieced her back together, when he had given her these gifts of her daughters.

But she doesn’t, she can’t, just remember the golden glow of their love.

Because she also remembers when he came to her with a blank expression and when the rhythms of love had meant something else entirely, when the edges of his fangs had sunk into her wing and held her. When he had led her from the island and straight into this trap that she now lives within.

The glow of her has dulled over time, and she knows it, but she still smiles when Darling speaks to her. She flinches slightly when she mentions their relationship—how could she not think back to his other sister, to the other threats whispered into her ear—but she does her best to not hold it against her. She just remains silent, her crimson lips pulling into a frown as she studies the face of her serpent husband.

“I don’t believe I have permission to leave,” she says softly, holding her wings tightly against herself. “I didn’t the last time I checked, and…” her voice trails off and she looks to the ground. “I have been so tired.” She feels the fatigue even now. She feels it in her bones and stretching through her veins. She can feel it like a soft beckoning—come home, lay down your head, just stop fighting so much.

Leliana closes her eyes when Darling reaches for her and accepts the tender touch.

“I only know how to love him,” a quiet confession as she finally looks up again, trying to see the man beneath the monster, the man she has known to be gentle and kind and good. And even though she has been rebuffed before, looking at the way his lips curl back, ripped away, she cannot help herself. She feels the golden light of her healing reach out for him, unpooling in her chest. She makes a soft sound in the back of her throat—something like a whimper or like a plea—and she lets it find its way into him.

@[vulgaris]