swan song

                       ❛    could you not practice so late  ?  you’re too damn loud  .     ❜   /   @choruscate

         ❛       OH,  SORRY  !   sorry,  sorry  —  i  -  i  didn’t  mean  to  scare  her  !       ❜    as  suggested,  a  quick  stride  backwards  is  taken  with  the  utmost  consideration.  she’d  have  been  lying  if  she  said  she  wasn’t  at  least  a  little  bit  startled,  but  regardless,  the  effects  of  such  hardly  last  long  at  all  —  she’s  practically  sparkling  with  wonder.

          ❛       i  guess  i  didn’t  realize  how  close  i  was  …  is  she  okay  ?        ❜

                              a concerned expression morphs into something of reassurance & a smile peaks at his cheeks. hands lift lightly into the air, a silent motion to whisper ‘ calm down , relax . ’ he manages to stay his steed into an act of quietude & feign a polite demeanor. 

                                                  ❝   yes, yes, she is well  .  .  . 

                                                                  you needn’t worry yourself. she’s easily roused. 

                           breath runs ragged ; opposing currents , raging tides. his face is sticky with midnight sweat & his fingers, pained with how they gripped at grass out of fear , out of unsolicited rage. he’s still calming down & part of him feels guilty , but he cannot help it. laei sits at his side – she must have heard something from her waking hours. he’d fallen asleep in the gardens. they are both immersed in the darkness of night.

quietly, he steadies himself as her hands drape over his shoulders  .  .  .  lashes are still bound, eyes still shut out of the terror that comes with reality’s dawning & he breathes out a deep sigh that is so much more than a sigh. slowly , the world unfolds around him. eyes open to the darkness , to the comfort of another’s touch  .  .  .  so he’s not alone. still , he cannot shake this fear that envelops him & while he wishes to first apologize , he cannot control the words that sink like a ravaged ship from his tongue. 

                                                                   ❝   where  .  .  .  my mother  .  .  .   ❞

& he pulls himself from his incline , his weight too much for his shaking arms to carry. he stumbles back against the ground & gazes to the skies. the stars are out tonight. some realization folds over him like the blanket he’d forgotten about & he stretches his fingers through his bangs. 

                      ❝   ah  .  .  .  i’m sorry, laei. these burdens are mine, alone, to bear. 

            there  is  an  ill  contained  exhale  as  you  listen  to  him.    of  course,   it’s  nothing  unusual;     there  are  many  who  would  prefer  you  to  rest  than  grow.   &  somehow  still,    you’re  uncertain  how  to  deal  with  it.   to  say  no  would  be  rude,   but  to  stall  in  your  lessons                    ‘     so  long  as  you  request  it,   my  time  is  your’s.     ’

           then  he  is  speaking  of  painting,    and  suddenly,   you’re  warm.           ‘      i       i  am  .  .  .  trained  in  such  things,   certainly,    but  i’m  no  avid  painter.    you  must  have  heard  wrong.     ’           teeth  to  cheek,    you’ll  pause,    as  always,   to  mull  it  over,     eyes  making  a  quick  dart  to  the  wall,   far  away  from  materials  familiar.    it  is  with  a  clearing  of  your  throat  that  you  speak  once  more.           ‘      though  if  you  are  insistent  on  my  removing  of  stress,   i  will  compromise  so  far  as  to  watch.     ’

                                                                    ❝   hm. i see  .  .  .  ❞

                            short is the span of time that it takes to assess the situation -- belief is fickle & relenting, but he has no cause to make accusations. preferences soar like feathers in the wind through his mind, & indecisiveness might prove worthy of the death of him. own eyes fall, locking with the ground, squinting as if drowned in some flowing contemplation. one hand rests gently on the table before them, & he takes his fingers in a silent rhythm -- 1 , 2 , 3 , 4. a steady tempo. 

ah ! a compromise. some tactic of masqueraded agreement that would later unfold into a relished defeat. there is a tiny smirk that pulls, smug, at his lips, but not a moment later it is hidden through a facade of polite consideration. 

               ❝   very well then. if you are willing to take a moment’s rest, i shall begin.  ❞

& he fills a thin canvas with a sketch of the room before them  .  .  .  his plan has yet to unfold.