Miru5llec

@elriel-month | Gardens

Azriel smiled faintly. “Would you like me to show you the garden?” She seemed so small before him, so fragile compared to the scales of his fighting leathers, the breadth of his shoulders. The wings peeking over them. But Elain did not balk from him, did not shy away as she nodded—just once.

Azriel, graceful as any courtier, offered her an arm. I couldn’t tell if she was looking at his blue Siphon or at his scarred skin beneath as she breathed, “Beautiful.” Color bloomed high on Azriel’s golden-brown cheeks, but he inclined his head in thanks and led my sister toward the back doors into the garden, sunlight bathing them.

✨Art by aurithemoon

✨Commissioned by me

Does she think she’s useless?

That her purpose is not important enough because it’s small or “expected”?

Like a housewife that believes what she does is expected of her, like it’s not work.

Like a gardener that looks at warriors and leaders and thinks “what could I possibly do to aide the suffering?”

Does she sometimes hate herself for her softness?

Like a healer who wishes softness could wield weapons too? Gentleness could help defend? Kindness could win wars?

Oh the tragedy of the Seer seeing everyone but herself.

The tragedy of the Seer wanting to see herself from eyes unknown or not at all.

"Look who decided to grow claws after all,' she crooned. 'Maybe you've become interesting at last, Elain." Nesta saw the blow land, like a physical impact, in Elain's face, her posture. No one spoke, though shadows gathered in the corners of the room, like snakes preparing to strike.

Tumbling