eden wept.

    @edenbled  —-  starter call!

        ❝ —- my name is herondale.  william herondale, but everyone calls me will.  is this your room?  not very nice, is it? ❞  consider it curiosity that propels him forward, that allows questions to remain answered  ( however spontaneously  —-  mentioning that he’d understood the art of japanese flowwer-arranging had little to nothing to do with the situation at hand, and yet it had been the first thing that came to mind )  even as gaze sweeps both cramped room and its inhabitant, grey eyes ablaze with a light of their own in the dimness.  countered against the glow of witch-light in his palm, those of the stranger seem of an equal  —-  where once a sense of determination had rested, there now is a widening about them, a disbelief at any of the words that had sprung forth from his mouth.  perhaps she had been expecting a knight of some sort, yet no knight had ever been as he now was, armed to the teeth, skin coated in dark runes that peeked over the edges of workman’s shirt as he cuffs it, casting a glance about all that surrounded the pair of them.  somewhere, he’s dimly aware of porcelain snapping beneath boot-heel as steps carry him about the darkness, cupped witchlight casting deepening shadows along walls with faded paper, a narrow windowsill upon which two volumes rest, and while exceptionally gloomy, the room had held nothing of oddness about it until  —-  ah.

        a hand gestures at latest finding, something that picks the room out to be unusual enough to have warranted his expedition.  despite flickering glow, eyes are bright, their often-deep blue turning to the navy of dark seas, something curious in their depths.  it wasn’t often that one was asked to be introduced when on attempting to rescue another, but so be it.  ❝ do you often sleep tied to the bed? ❞

                there  is  a  sourness  in  her  belly,  a  heat  within  her  cheeks.  shame.     embarrassment     !     watching  this  stranger  pick  apart  this  space  that  is  more  captivity  pen  than  bedroom  while  her  bones  still  ache  from  all  too  recent  transformations                    a  cooling  fire  in  her  veins,  a  poison  slowly  ebbing  away.  for  all  his  good  looks,  tessa  finds  she  still  does  not  trust  him  :     for  all  she  knows,  this  could  be  a  rouse.     A  TRICK     !     the  magister  here  to  check  upon  his  captive  soon  -  to  -  be  bride,  wanting  to  gauge  her  unwillingness  himself  before  forcing  her  to  go  through  with  it  all  the  same.     (     although,  anyone  who  looked  like  that  wouldn't  need  to  tie  girls  up     &&     imprison  them  in  order  to  get  them  to  marry  him     )

     there were few memories of his MOTHER, of his life before the thénardiers and their inn.  but he knew she was BEAUTIFUL.  he knew her hair had been long and soft, and he knew her FACE  ––  her pink lips and blue eyes  ––  had been as PRETTY, if not prettier, than éponine’s dolls.  he didn’t think he looked like her very much, for he knew he was UGLY:  scrawny and filthy and scarred, with mussed and stringy hair, with knobby and UNDERFED limbs.  éponine was right  ––  he knew she was right.  he’d stay UGLY, he was sure of that  ––  everyone said so, not just the little thénardier girl.  the TRUTH was quite a CERTAIN thing  ––  but it still hurt. 

“––––––––––  y-yes.  i think you’ll… be very B-BEAUTIFUL when you’re older, mademoiselle.”   you’re ALREADY very beautiful, mademoiselle.  maybe she wouldn’t want to talk anymore about how UGLY christophe was and would be.  maybe they could pretend she hadn’t said it  ––  pretend it wasn’t TRUE.  he gripped the handle of the broom, looking down at its bristles and his BARE, dirty feet.   “you  ––––––  you LOOK like one of those… f-fine dolls,”  he finished quietly, a small, sad SMILE pulling at his bruised lips. 

                    eponine  thenardier  knew  she  is  quite  the  pretty  little  girl                    nice  hair,  slightly  pink  cheeks     &&,  when  she  deigns  to  smile,  it  is  said  to  be  capable  of  being  rather  angelic  when  she  wants  it  to  be.  her  mother  says  so,  as  she  fixes  the  bow  in  her  hair  or  straightens  the  hem  of  her  dress  or  gives  her  a  goodnight  kiss. her  father  says  so,  with  his  big  hands  on  her  cheeks  or  when  she  aids  his  attempts  to  get  more  money  out  of  their  customers. strangers  say  it  as  they  eat  their  food  or  drink  their  liqueur  or  pass  her  on  the  street.  but,  indeed,  it  never  hurts  to  hear  further  confirmation.

            wildfire hair with distant eyes. she is who he loves. there is something else there, something beneath the surface that is more than what the capitol displays. she is not shiny nor is she dull. she’s something else. a pearl in a sea. the unexpected beauty that doesn’t pale against finnick’s flair. easily, she lifts him in her quiet ways. OSTENTATIOUS suits him as restraint suits her. she is loved.             lips curve upwards, nothing feigned as eyes meet hers. she is soothing, like the sea. it is easy to see why the other loves her. why the ghost of a smile incites katniss’s so easily. she is easy to be around. serene in the inanimate that surrounds her. limbs bend, body smoothly falling into the seat beside her. calculated are her words, soft spoken against the air between them. harsh edges smoothed down for the undine of district four. ❛  hi annie.  ❜ honey waves pulled into braid sways, eyes searching for the sunlit boy. ❛  finnick still sleeping ?  ❜

                       @edenbled, for annie. ♡.

                it  takes  a  moment  for  answer  to  form                    too  into  own  mind  for  question  to  make  it  through  haze  so  quickly.     (     in  her  head  there  is  sand  between  her  toes     /     there  is  salt  in  her  hair,  sticking  to  the  slick  of  her  tongue     /     there  is  finnicks  laughter  in  her  ears.     DANGER  IS  WORLDS  AWAY     !     )          ❛     katniss.     ❜          gentle  greeting  :     gentle  smile  widening  just  a  touch.     GIRL  -  MYTH     /     GIRL  -  CAUTIONARY  TALE     /     GIRL  --  OCEAN  PERSONIFIED.     between  them,  she  thinks  absently,  they  represent  both  fire     &&     water.  such  powerful,  beautiful  forces  each     (     she  envies  katniss  her  strength     )     /     perhaps  they  should  attempt  to find  air     &&     earth  to  join  in  their  conversation.

     he’d not recognized her but for her PARENTS  ––  and he suspected she might not have known him were it not for her father and mother RECOGNIZING his papa.  but there she was now, several STREETS away from the disgruntled incident  ––  from that BEAUTIFUL girl he’d seen, heavenly father  ––  and STANDING before him with an expression of complete knowing.   “––––––––––  éponine.”   her name was not a QUESTION, but it was still uncertain on his tongue  ––  he wasn’t sure he’d ever actually VOICED her christian name.  she’d always been ‘mademoiselle,’ per madame and monseiur’s ORDERS, save in his childish dreams. 

@edenbled   //   CHRISTOPHE & ÉPONINE  ( closed )