11-12-2020, 12:14 AM
“I do like it here,” she agrees, almost as though she is acknowledging it for the first time. “Or I must, since I’ve never left.” Beqanna has changed so much in the nearly two hundred years that she has been here. It has been dismantled to ruins and rebuilt itself into something new and unrecognizable, and she cannot deny the likeness that she shares with the land. She is, after all, someone entirely different from the girl – pale and plain, and a girl in nearly every sense – that had first arrived here. She has been torn apart and stitched back together, and the glow of her skin may as well have been light seeping through the cracks.
She would perhaps be unrecognizable to some, but for all the radiance she can display on the outside, it is still the same girlish, worn, and broken heart locked inside the darkness of her chest.
There is a weighted silence, so brief that anyone else might have not noticed it, but she has learned to read the silence just as she reads the dark. She can feel the way Boheme’s gaze has fixed itself onto her own sightless stare, and where another might have felt self-conscious or shame or anything similar, she feels almost nothing. The scarred sockets in the past seemed to garner more pity, while the stones – or diamonds or gemstones or however the magic deems itself appropriate to portray itself that day – was mostly curiosity.
She is no stranger to either one, and is not surprised when Boheme asks.
“They’re a punishment,” she explains, but the strange smile that twists her lips at the memory of his final touch against her cheek leaves the statement sounding thin. “For not doing as Carnage asked.” It is her turn for silence now, her mind loud but her tongue staying still, because she is always so reluctant to divulge in details. There was an intimacy even in the bloodshed, and selfish as she always is, she hated to share it. “I wasn’t made for killing, but I can withstand punishments. Maybe not the choice anyone else would have made in that situation, but, I don’t think anyone has ever accused me of being just like everyone else, ” she finishes with another faint laugh, the breeze toying with the golden feathers at the tips of her wings.
She would perhaps be unrecognizable to some, but for all the radiance she can display on the outside, it is still the same girlish, worn, and broken heart locked inside the darkness of her chest.
There is a weighted silence, so brief that anyone else might have not noticed it, but she has learned to read the silence just as she reads the dark. She can feel the way Boheme’s gaze has fixed itself onto her own sightless stare, and where another might have felt self-conscious or shame or anything similar, she feels almost nothing. The scarred sockets in the past seemed to garner more pity, while the stones – or diamonds or gemstones or however the magic deems itself appropriate to portray itself that day – was mostly curiosity.
She is no stranger to either one, and is not surprised when Boheme asks.
“They’re a punishment,” she explains, but the strange smile that twists her lips at the memory of his final touch against her cheek leaves the statement sounding thin. “For not doing as Carnage asked.” It is her turn for silence now, her mind loud but her tongue staying still, because she is always so reluctant to divulge in details. There was an intimacy even in the bloodshed, and selfish as she always is, she hated to share it. “I wasn’t made for killing, but I can withstand punishments. Maybe not the choice anyone else would have made in that situation, but, I don’t think anyone has ever accused me of being just like everyone else, ” she finishes with another faint laugh, the breeze toying with the golden feathers at the tips of her wings.
R y A t A h
and you can aim for my heart, go for blood
but you would still miss me in your bones
but you would still miss me in your bones
@[Boheme]
sorry for the wait, I went on hiatus/away/whatever but now I'm back lmao