#DHUFEAINNEWEDD.    when  you  first  see  her,  she  will  be  light  refracted,  splintered  divinity,  some  unlovely  portrait  of  a  goddess  misremembered    

it was two fun years, and i enjoyed talking to everyone on the dash, but it’s time to let go and get another hobby. maybe i’ll come back later, but with work and college i legit can’t manage to log on here and be present. plus, i dont think i’ve enjoyed my time here in a long while, which it took me some time to realize, and well. if it doesn’t spark joy, throw it away. 

we’ve    had    a    tough    couple    of    months.    we’re    all    figuring    out    who    we    really    are    and    what    we    want    in    life,    and    that    can    be    painful.    however,    you    can’t    really    heal    yourself    until    you    stop    living    a    lie.

a    tough    couple    of    months    is    such    an    amusing    way    of    putting    it.            one    would    not    necessarily    choose    the    term    'tough'    to    describe    months    of    sleeplessness,    chasing    another    dreamer's    dream,    hoping    so    very    strongly    to    find    the    light    at    the    end    of    this    very    dark,    very    scary    tunnel.            'tough'    is    underselling    it,    which    is    one    thing    gansey    is    so    very    good    at.            he    uses    words    the    same    ways    ishtar    dreams    of    stars        —        that    is    to    say    he    whispers    them    into    existence    long    before    they    give    him    the    answer    he    requires.            and    yes,    perhaps    there    is    something    to    it.            perhaps    on    some    dreadful    sunny    days    she    loves    the    way    he    talks    about    their    life,    and    how    they    are    meant    for    wonderful,    extraordinary    adventures.            perhaps    on    some    eery    nights,    she    is    willing    to    close    her    eyes    and    seek    for    pictures    that    look    like    the    ones    he    draws    with    his    voice,    rather    than    the    truth    she    knows    is    there,    right    behind    the    thin    wall    of    her    eyelids.    

«        i’ve    seen    the    look    on    a    man’s    face    when    he    realizes    he’s    going    to    die.        »

death    has    many    eyes        &        many    expressions    of    horror.            some    beg    and    some    keep    their    chin    high...        yet    all    fall    to    their    knees    when    the    last    strike    befalls    them.            it    is    a    story    that    has    already    been    written    a    thousand    times,    and    there    is    nothing    interesting    in    having    it    repeat    times    and    times    again.            ishtar    does    not    care    much    about    death,    whether    suffering    it    or    inflicting    it.            one    grows    unconcerned    by    the    bane    of    life    when    time    no    longer    pushes    them    toward    the    edge.    

                  “     bitch ,   you  come  here  looking  like  a  rat  drowned  in  redbull  and  you  expect  me  to  look  at  you  normally ?     ”     body  leans  against  the  front  door  as  dark  eyes  scan  the  girl  from  head  to  toe  once  again .     a  couple  beats  pass  before  she  opens  the  door  wider  to  allow  her  to  walk  inside ,   cold  air  leaving  goose  bumps  across  exposed  skin .     she  is  not  one  to  close  the  door  to  a  friend  in  need ,   but  if  ishtar  expects  no  questions  to  be  asked ,   she  came  to  the  wrong  place .     “     come  in  and  be  quiet ,   my  parents  are  sleeping .     ”

sienna’s toxic trait is that she cries when she gets angry. ( ha, 'toxic trait’ implies that she has only one and that she is not heaps and loads and mounds of toxic traits shoved into a sienna-shaped body-thing. she’s just going to leave it at that. ) on the topic of one of her toxic traits: she tries to channel her anger into the fist clenched around her cane, and, fuck it, her other fist is clenched too. it’s a buy-one-get-one-free type of situation. it’s all she can do to try to contain everything, everything, everything inside. 

she has no right to cry for someone who was never hers, someone who never even bothered to look at her twice. actually, sienna’s not even sure ishtar looked once. why would she? sienna wasn’t compelling — she wasn’t that forced exposure that led ishtar to a husband, she was just that awkward international student with a cringey obsession with theatre and viruses. now that she thinks about it ( hindsight is 100/20, but that’s better than ∞/20 ), maybe she and ishtar didn’t have that much in common. two outcasts, sure, but ishtar was an outcast by choice and no one could fucking stand sienna ( she couldn’t stand herself, either )! they were drawn together by ishtar needing a couch to crash on and sienna having a single dorm because her brain was too fucked to have a roommate. it was a childhood fantasy, a fleeting obsession — or not so fleeting, if sienna is honest with herself —  bound for nothing. they didn’t end in disaster or in heartbreak ( well, sure, sienna’s heart broke, but that mattered nothing in the grand scheme ). they just didn’t end because they never started. sienna was a fool to have fancied anything else. 

sienna is silent, because if she opens her mouth, she will say something unkind and unfair. it’s not ishtar’s fault she found someone who could do everything sienna couldn’t. it’s not ishtar’s fault sienna felt entitled to her companionship. if sienna is miserable now ( and she is ), it is all because of her own doing. they’re in their thirties; it’s time for sienna to take responsibility. a sideways glance at ishtar shows her that it’s going to be a perfectly happy little family, a white picket fence, a child, husband, affection for life, love for life, a life worth living. she allows one tear to fall, just the one, and she quickly wipes it away with a hand still fisted.

     ❛ congratulations. ❜ sienna’s always-monotone voice is perfect for now. it reveals nothing. her face reveals nothing either, save for the now-gone tear. only her fists reveal something, but what it is, sienna doesn’t want to qualify. she has nothing else to say, and a part of her wants to leave, but the other part — and sienna can’t tell how large that part is — misses her old… friend… though they were never really friends. still, she was the closest thing sienna ever had to a friend, so she’ll treasure her forever for that, even though the larger part of sienna is riddled and whipped with hate — yes, hate — because sienna’s soul is the ugliest thing to ever walk the earth. 

a step here, a step there, and out into bilbao’s streets. the day is lovely, a happy, carefree sun that doesn’t burn but simply warms, a few perfect, fluffy clouds, lovely streets full of colors and chatter. sienna just wants to slink back to her hotel room and hide for a long time. maybe forever. but hiding with bertrand wasn’t very much fun either. 

sienna doesn’t know what she wants. 

     ❛ glad you let yourself stay long enough for that forced exposure to lead to something. ❜ sienna can’t meet ishtar’s eyes. she looks away instead, looks at the lines of people wanting to enter the museum, the security guards explaining that it’s a private event, children drawing on the sidewalk across the street. ❛ that's—good. that’s really good, and— ❜

no, what she was going to say is unkind. sienna grips her cane tighter. 

     ❛ life is treating me… alright, i suppose. ❜ that’s dressing up her life to the Nth degree. ❛ actually, it’s less about how life is treating me and more about how i’m treating life. i, uh, disrespected life — humanity, you could call it — and i’m trying to… ❜ she doesn’t know what she’s trying to do. step, step. ❛ congratulations, really. a family. that's—that’s great. ❜ 

the    truth    is    that    ishtar    is    terrified.            she    never    thought    she    would    get    to    this    part    of    the    story.            she    had    become    accostumated    with    the    idea    that    she    would    never    leave    her    teenage    years    and    that    something    would    take    her    out,    either    her    own    reckless    decisions    or    fate    itself,    deciding    it    was    enough.            she    always    imagined    that    life    would    stop,    in    one    way    or    another,    and    that    she    would    never    see    the    other    side    of    her    twenties.            past    twenty-five,    she    convinced    herself    thirties    wouldn't    happen.            and    yet    here    she    is,    thirty    and    married    and    happy.            terrified,    yes,    because    none    of    this    was    imagined    beforehand.            the    test    came    back    positive    without    her    being    completely    sure    she    wanted    to    be    a    mother.            with    the    bad    example    of    mamma    and    the    very    obvious    lack    of    a    mother    figure    in    her    life,    how    could    she    imagine    being    one    herself?            the    only    thing    keeping    terror    from    leading    her    straight    to    the    abortion    center    was    caranthir,    and    only    because    she    knew    that    he    would    not    let    her    fuck    up.            perhaps    this    is    what    had    been    problematic    with    sienna        :        ishtar    had    never    been    able    to    trust    her    to    hold    her    accountable.            sienna    loved    her    too    much.            and    she    didn't    love    her    the    right    way.            it    was    all    wrong,    the    way    she    would    kiss    the    ground    ishtar    walked    on,    and    how    she    would    never    scream    at    her    for    all    the    bad    decisions    that    ishtar    kept    making.            sienna    had    been    an    angel,    yes,    letting    her    storm    in        &        out    as    if    nothing    mattered,    but    ishtar    needed    someone    to    anchor    her.            she    needed    to    know    that    if    she    were    to    fly    away,    someone    would    hold    her        &        look    at    her        &        remind    her    that    she    wasn't    some    wild    concept.    she    was    real,    and    needed    to    take    responsability    for    her    life.    

sienna    couldn't    have    done    that.            she    could    barely    do    it    for    herself.            in    that    way,    they    had    been    atrocious    for    each    other.            «        thanks.        »            the    word    is    quiet,    but    ishtar's    eyes    are    searching.            sienna's    face    used    to    be    much    more    expressive        ;        ishtar    could    read    her    in    a    moment    and    use    it    to    her    advantage.            that    was    a    dirty    trick,    one    she    is    still    rather    fond    of    when    interactions    are    needed.            but    the    difficulty    she    has    in    knowing    what's    happening    behind    sienna's    eyes    is    rather    striking,    in    the    sense    that    she    doesn't    remember    things    ever    being    this    way.            the    years    have    left    a    gap    so    big    between    them    that    ishtar    can't    even    read    between    the    lines.        and    so    she    keeps    silent,    and    simply    walks    away.            away    from    the    big    party    and    the    loud    talking    noises,    away    into    the    street.    

«        it    wasn't...    tha'    way.            it    ain't    happened    just    'cause    i    suddenly    stopped    runnin'.        »            she    isn't    sure    why    it    is    necessary    that    sienna    understands,    but    ishtar    feels    like    the    pill    might    be    easier    to    swallow    and    fists    might    be    easier    to    loosen    if    sienna    knew    that    it    was    more    of    a    "him"    situation    than    a    "i    suddenly    decided    i    could    settle    and    kept    the    first    boy    who    wanted    me".            «        he's,    he's    borin'.            and    too    serious.            and    sometimes    he    doesn't    get    my    jokes    and    just    follows    along    'cause    he    knows    i'd    get    annoyin'    if    he    didn't.        »            and    it    should    be    all    bad    things,    but    she    is    smiling    softly,    and    if    you    were    to    look    at    her    face,    you'd    say    she's    talking    about    the    best    thing    that    has    ever    happened    to    her.            «        and    when    i    was    younger,    all    of    this    would    have    made    me    run    away    so    fuckin'    fast.            but,    i    really    really    wanted    'im.            i    wanted    the    borin'    and    the    seriousness    of    it    all.        »            she    looks    at    sienna,    now,    hoping    she    understands.            «        went    through    forced    exposure    so    that    i    could    have    'im.            not    the    other    way    'round.        »            and    that's    the    depressing    conclusion,    is    it    not?            she    wanted    him    enough    to    stay.            she    needed    to    stay    if    she    wanted    him.            sienna    never    managed    such    an    ultimatum,    and    when    she    tried    her    hand    at    it,    ishtar    flew    away    so    fucking    fast    an    army    plane    would    have    looked    like    a    toy    next    to    her.    

sienna is not one for subtlety. 

quite the opposite, she makes every intention of hers known. life is about direction and effort. it does not come effortlessly. sienna can’t simply wait for her — okay, she’ll admit it! — crush to approach her. she needs to make the first move ( or, like, the fifty-seventh move at this point ) and hope that this time ishtar might reciprocate. finals are all finished, and it’s now a fine friday night, the kind where there’s lightning in the sky and thunder in their hearts. 

a black dress that reaches mid-thigh is not a staple from sienna’s standard wardrobe. neither is the red lipstick nor the iron-curled hair nor the highlighter dusting her cheekbones. none of it screams sienna, not at all, but this is sienna. this is not sienna the nerd, but this is sienna who might be pretty enough to hold hands with ishtar. sienna with curled hair, sienna with red lips, sienna who’s polished her glasses’ lenses. most importantly, she is sienna who is going to try forward flirting instead of sienna who stares awkwardly from afar in hopes that it translates to i like you. 

but house parties are not sienna’s thing. her earplugs are stuffed in her ears and she’s holding a glass of water instead of the sugary mixerd drinks everyone else is holding ( she is not going to ruin her chance with ishtar by having a diabetic emergency ). no one talks to her during the party, and sienna does not mind. she is not here for them, she is here for ishtar.

a little ways into the night, ishtar shows up. she’s easy to recognize because of her hair and because of those boots. one flutter of sienna’s eyes and she sees herself and ishtar, kissing in the rain, and then her eyes are open again and ishtar is so far away. 

but it doesn’t have to stay that way. 

sienna pushes past crowds of students, some already sloppy drunk, and makes her way to stand beside ishtar. she touches ishtar’s shoulder to grab her attention; this is a physical greeting, because sienna has physical intentions. 

     ❛ come outside with me, ❜ she says into her ear, trying to overpower the blaring music. ❛ it’s raining, but there’s a covered patio. we won’t get wet, unless… we want to. ❜ 

the    party    is    a    blast.            ishtar    didn't    exactly    doubt    that    it    would    be    the    case,    but    dilshad's    kind    of    partying    isn't    exactly    ishtar's    scene    either        :        house    parties    are    a    smash    or    pass    kind    of    dilemma    and    it's    only    with    the    right    atmosphere    and    the    right    amount    of    wine    that    one    might    survive    the    evening.            ishtar    is    doing    amazing    as    ever,    though—            she    talks    to    everyone    with    the    same    light    in    her    eyes,    just    twinkly    enough    that    she    seems    mesmerized    by    absolutely    whatever    tale    leaves    the    other    person's    lips.            she    laughs    at    all    the    right    times,    and    the    way    she    laughs    is    cute,    okay?            it's    not    too    much    but    it    rings    true,    and    when    she    smiles    at    you    once    she's    done,    it's    like    she's    contemplating    how    funny    you    are,    and    how    happy    she    is    to    talk    to    you.            it's    a    rare    thing,    you    know,    the    way    she    pays    attention    to    everything    you    do    or    say.            that's    why    people    like    her,    and    why    when    she    goes    from    one    group    to    the    next,    all    that    remains    behind    her    is    easy    banter.            people    don't    laugh    at    ishtar    anymore—            when    she    was    a    kid,    they    would    sneer    at    her    ugly    clothes    and    her    off-putting    words.            but    now    that    she    has    grown    into    her    personality,    people    just    shrug    it    off.            it's    ishtar.            she    wears    what    she    wants    and    she's    smart    and    snarky    and    sometimes    a    little    bit    malicious,    yes,    but    it's    all    in    good    fun.    

so    all    in    all,    ishtar    is    having    a    good    time.            she    flies    from    one    conversation    to    the    next,    carrying    news    from    one    group    to    another    with    the    same    ease    as    a    busy    bee    going    from    one    flower    to    the    next.            she    doesn't    settle,    because    ishtar    isn't    really    the    kind    to    limit    herself,    but    it's    not    as    rude    as    it    could    have    been.            she    has    learned    what    she    didn't    know    as    a    kid,    the    way    you    can    manipulate    a    group    into    opening    for    you,    and    how    you    can    ease    the    public    into    letting    you    go.            it's    all    a    grand    performance,    and    she    definitely    became    the    maestro.            at    least,    until    a    hand    touches    her    shoulder,    and    suddenly    ishtar    isn't    flying    anymore.            she's    on    the    ground,    both    feet    keeping    her    upright,    attention    now    focused    on    whoever    possesses    this    hand.            eyes    find    sienna's,    and    for    a    moment    it's    silence.    

          oh child of spice you are bound to the core of the earth.   can you feel the heartbeat of nature pulsing through your veins.   you are the mouthful of autumn that scorched through your throat, you are the pepper of life that wakes up the weary.   the foolish and shaking will attempt to dilute you with sickening sugar, do not let them.   your spark is what keeps us alive my dear.   keep burning, little star.   you see the beauty and the light, but oh you have been fed poison and refuse to drop it onto other's tongues.   be wild.   I know what your heart is chanting.   run.   run.   run.   run dear, find your story.   do not trade your spirit for safety.   you are a child of the earth, forever seeking, forever dancing.