[private] now through and through i've come undone, claudius

[Brinly]

— i would rather learn what it feels like to burn than feel nothing at all —

She should have been ash by now.

She does not know why she persists; why she does not simply let this fire consume her, destroy her from the inside out like it has been trying to do for nearly all of her life. The anger has hardened into some igneous, no longer bright and burning like the flames that lick from her skin, but solidified inside of her chest. Her heart beats against it, uncomfortable, this immovable mass that now feels as if it is just a part of her. 

Sometimes she wonders if this stagnant indifference is worse than unmanageable anger from before, because at least when she had something to hate it felt as if she had a purpose. There is nothing left for her here, it seems, and there is no reason for her to stay.

Yet here she is, lingering near the edge of the forest. She does not bother trying to hide — it’s not as if she could. The sun had fallen low in the sky, and the orange glow of her flames lit like a beacon in the gathering dark. She was irritated by the cold; it made her think of someone she’d rather not think of, and if she could burn winter away she thinks she would.

It was the only reason she had drifted this close to the general population, her embered eyes cautiously scanning, seeking out a distraction. She isn’t sure what she is looking for, or even what she wants, but she is sure that it will find her.

Brinly

image by littlewillow-art

@claudius

[claudius]

It’s funny how something can have so many memories attached to it throughout one’s life that the oldest memories begin to be taped over. It’s not an ungrateful child, glancing over the label “BABY CLIPS ‘84” to record an episode of their favorite show that airs during their kid sister’s dance recital. It’s not someone grieving, desperate to rid themself of their memories. It’s deliberate. It’s slow. It’s starving yourself of all your necessities just to afford an extra tape, a little more space, some extra time. It’s choosing the least favorite, the least important, the least damaging parts of your life. Are the color of her eyes important? And what about the flowers your mother always grew in the spring? You can’t keep all of her but you must keep some.

It’s Mothers that make this world spin and spin and spin, year after year. He knows nothing other than a mother and the world she bore on her back. Within that world, Claudius and his siblings danced their lives away, safe and protected and far from the curse that’s chased them ever since he can remember. They have always ran, Claudius and his family; but Prayer was the fastest and the strongest, she bore the brunt of their fears and let the madness seek her instead of their children.

As Claudius has grown older, though, that curse grows more vivid—more real—everyday. He no longer dreams of tropical days spent in Tephra but of years spent mending scratches that will never heal. He dreams of all the hearts he is capable of breaking. He dreams of blood endlessly dripping crimson trails behind him. Sometimes, even in the daylight, he sees figures in the shadows—looming, their gazes pervasive. Sometimes he thinks he sees his father’s eyes, what little he remembers of them. And sometimes, there is the subtlest whispering in his ears just before he passes silently into sleep.

But it’s been so long since he has seen his father. And when the sun is out and warm on his back, it’s easy to forget the darkness lurking just around the corner. Claudius often loses what plagues him; he’s spent most of the day losing himself in the brightness of the day. As night creeps closer, though, his skin crawls with dread and his muscles tense in preparation.

A decided moodiness takes over Claudius’ countenance. His face appears taut and straight, a thin veil for the anxiety that whirls in his eyes. Brinly reflects in the tumult of of his clouded gaze, as bright and as comforting as the shadow-chasing sun. Claudius draws to her like moth to flame, nearly unwilling.

“Are you looking for company?”

claudius

i start the day lying and end with the truth

that i'm dying for the knife

@Brinly

[Brinly]

— i would rather learn what it feels like to burn than feel nothing at all —

She does not know why she is always surprised when someone actually approaches her.

She does not know when she stopped caring that they do.

There had been a time when she had been so afraid of burning someone, and her abrasive nature had been the only way she knew to force others to keep their distance. It had been easy for them to assume back then she was just a plain girl with an irascible attitude — no one could fathom that someone so plain looking could burn in the way she warned them that she could. But ever since the fire had consumed her and turned her into a living, breathing warning sign she stopped caring so much.

If they were drawn to the flames she would not shoulder the blame for them being scorched.

The reflex to tell him ‘no’ when he asks if she is looking for company is nearly overpowering, and she has to bite her tongue to keep from saying it. Admitting such a thing felt like a shortcoming; admitting that she needed anything at all was a failure. Her anger had been her closest companion for years, their party crashed only by her intermittent fights with Brigade. She realizes, in this moment, that she has forgotten how to be anything other than irritated and resentful.

“I suppose so,” she answers him, her tone clipped but leaning more towards a bored indifference. It’s the best she can offer, at the moment, with genuine kindness still so far out of reach. “A little odd that of everyone here you chose to approach the one on fire, don’t you think?” The question, strangely enough, does not have the bite behind it it may have once had. In fact, there is almost a trace of amusement, accentuated by the faintest upward turn of her lips.

Brinly

image by littlewillow-art

@claudius