dead beat {Pollock}

[Hestia]

the cat and the fiddle

  In the first few moments after death her anger had fueled her. She had engaged him. Seething at his enjoyment of this. Now each day goes by and everything about her expresses a new thinness. A flicker here, a withering sound there. Scattered throughout the day. As they traveled and he pulled her around to old spots that would flood her mind with distant memories of another life.
Hestia could feel her heart shriveling. Once more losing her soul to all but the land. The land had been her hope, the land had been her guide. The land was what kept her going in her immortal years. When she first began hating the yawning path of time. It never disappeared. She never grew older. The world passed her by without a second glance. Others would grow old, others would have families. Others would live a life, and know that one day it would end for them. For her… there had been no end. So she learned to survive. She found her belonging. It wasn’t with other horses, not with kingdoms.

No she had been the story keeper. Her life meant little, except for all the secrets that she possessed. All the little whispers and nuances that were said in the shadows. They were hers and hers alone. No one noticed her so she blended in, the land welcomed her and would shroud her where she walked so she had no exposure. She would watch from the shadows as others came and went. But it was her that knew it all.

Now… her mind goes blank. A dark hole chipping away at her. One that she is all too familiar with. Looking to her body, her frame flickers.  She knows she is nothing, I know I shouldn’t be here. I know that. She hisses the last words to her thoughts not realizing that she spoke them aloud. When he approaches her, she can’t help it. She is so weary. Hestia leans against him, even as she can feel him, feel the warmth, she knows if she does this too heavily she would simply slip through. But for the moment, a warm body next to hers is all that she can ask for.  Allowing herself the small pleasure of believing that there is one that cares for her is an illusion that is well worth the pain.

He shocks her out of it once more. The days blur with you around. She responds to him dryly. I remember little, if anything. Her retort is meant to hurt him. But she is sure that it had no effect on him. Still it was always a guilty pleasure of hers to vent. It didn’t do anything except give her the smug feeling that she had a voice and could use it. She was proud to annoy others.

probably off with another whore if you ask me. He got what he wanted out of me. her thin voice hardens at this attempting to brush it off as if it was nothing. How could she be so stupid? He couldn’t have cared for her. She was stupid to think that he did. He got his children. A daughter a son. He only kept her around to watch them and make sure that she didn’t run off with them at any time. It’s what all males do after all. Her muscles tighten at this. Her heart turning cold just as her temperature drops slightly with the crackling anger that was forming in her chest. She should have never settled. She should have never relaxed and trusted. No it was the biggest mistake she could have committed.

Looking his way her green orb flickers with steely resolve. The ancient look of before she met this Fennick. He couldn’t hurt her anymore. She had her childish moment, and she had paid the price. The Jungle spirit would always exact its payment from her. She smiles wryly to him. You know I don’t blame you for killing me. I would have done the same. She states it as a joke. I was becoming to soft. Thanks for the reminder Pollock. Her humor dry as ever. Her solid stance growing firmer now.

Hestia

The living dead