07-15-2020, 01:01 AM
when you're dreaming with a broken heart
There is something dangerous in the way that he speaks, and he is not usually the kind she would seek company with. She had been raised in the darkness but she did not develop the same fascination with it as her mother. There was no high to be found in pain, at least, not for her. Hurt only felt like hurt; heartache only like heartache. She knew what it meant to be so consumed by it that it mastered all her waking thoughts and crafted itself into nightmares, and she learned she would rather be alone than to face it all again. She learned to bear her loneliness and her pain all on her own, and did not seek out others to be used a makeshift balm.
She suffered, silent and solitary.
Until she caved, recently, and now all her wounds were flayed open. Her heart throbbed and her chest ached, somehow unbearably empty and yet brimming with emotion all at once. It was too much – too much to have been reminded of the love she had had and lost, too much to feel it and have it ripped away again.
She wanted a distraction, and it was so unlike her, and though she is afraid she will regret this too, she finds that she cannot stop herself.
Her eyes follow the scales that race across his skin, and then she sucks in a soft breath at the sudden narrowed, sharpening of his eyes.
She is not afraid, though, but instead is instantly captivated. He could kill her or maybe he could love her, and she knows it won’t matter because she will end up dead and forgotten either way.
“I know,” she concedes quietly because she knows what it is to be alone more than she knows anything. She has been alone ever since her father desecrated her innocence, ever since he turned her into something damaged and defiled that would be impossible to be wanted or loved. “Sometimes it’s nice to be alone with someone else, though.” The softness of her eyes become fixated on his face, and she finds that now she can’t look away.
The pale locks of her forelock, the vibrant blossoms bathed in the gentle glow that radiated from her – somehow she takes everything that should have been beautiful about her and turns it into something melancholy, and she knows she must be the last soul on earth anyone would want to be alone with. “Anonya,” she offers him in a voice as faint as the light that illuminates from her porcelain skin, and she does not ask for his name, in case he does not want to offer it to the pitiful girl nearly begging for a stranger’s attention.
She suffered, silent and solitary.
Until she caved, recently, and now all her wounds were flayed open. Her heart throbbed and her chest ached, somehow unbearably empty and yet brimming with emotion all at once. It was too much – too much to have been reminded of the love she had had and lost, too much to feel it and have it ripped away again.
She wanted a distraction, and it was so unlike her, and though she is afraid she will regret this too, she finds that she cannot stop herself.
Her eyes follow the scales that race across his skin, and then she sucks in a soft breath at the sudden narrowed, sharpening of his eyes.
She is not afraid, though, but instead is instantly captivated. He could kill her or maybe he could love her, and she knows it won’t matter because she will end up dead and forgotten either way.
“I know,” she concedes quietly because she knows what it is to be alone more than she knows anything. She has been alone ever since her father desecrated her innocence, ever since he turned her into something damaged and defiled that would be impossible to be wanted or loved. “Sometimes it’s nice to be alone with someone else, though.” The softness of her eyes become fixated on his face, and she finds that now she can’t look away.
The pale locks of her forelock, the vibrant blossoms bathed in the gentle glow that radiated from her – somehow she takes everything that should have been beautiful about her and turns it into something melancholy, and she knows she must be the last soul on earth anyone would want to be alone with. “Anonya,” she offers him in a voice as faint as the light that illuminates from her porcelain skin, and she does not ask for his name, in case he does not want to offer it to the pitiful girl nearly begging for a stranger’s attention.
the waking up is the hardest part
ANONYA
@[Larva]