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@ofsoul
archived. send me an ask if you want to reach out, i still get discord notifs here. thank you all for everything !

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hi everyone ! this blog has been officially archived ! i am clearing out my drafts ( i have a few replies done and unformatted that i won´t move to the new one for lazyness sake ). much love see you in another dimmension ! you can unfollow this blog
@azarathian <3
hi everyone ! this blog has been officially archived ! i am clearing out my drafts ( i have a few replies done and unformatted that i won´t move to the new one for lazyness sake ). much love see you in another dimmension ! you can unfollow this blog
she's perpetually tired - overstimulated, willfully ignorant of that very fact. it's too loud in the chosen vicinity; though, the brown noise of the patrons, the jukebox, the bartenders, the unspoken reluctance and equal (frightening) clarity between herself and raven plays an intentional, dull roar over the reverberation in eliza's mind. doubt, fear, trauma and anguish - she just wants it all to stop. drinking, mingling, fighting and loving will numb the senses, at least. the presence of her dearest friend keeps her on better behavior than usual.
eliza shakes her head in negative reply to raven's first question (‘tired already?’) - admonishing the idea that she knows better than to lie to her companion. she never drops raven's hand, palm against palm as her thumb caresses the back of the other woman's digits. eliza is lost in her eyes, unblinking and unwavering as she smiles softly; 'incandescent', she says. the definition evades eliza, but the inclination is blatantly kind. color rises in her cheeks and she soon turns bashful, as she often does in the presence of her external conscience.
"i don't need any new friends." the spoken offering is so simple - so plain, so honest. eliza's head lolls to the side as she shrugs and stares at raven, so simply enamored - like loving her is the easiest thing in the world. (to eliza, it is.) "i came here t'be with you."
CONT. / @ofsoul 🤍
it’s agonizing to experience eliza, a supernova of a soul, incessant in growth, of love and aching merged in one ( some philosophers say, there is not one without the other ) woman with the determination of a thousand. with the overwhelmed senses of the empath, the sensitive quiet she thrives on and the docile habits of entertainment, there’s little in common between the two, save for the intensity of their hearts ( one in the limelight, the other hidden and repressed ). when she comes closer it’s more evident, it drowns every other soul around them, it’s both a comforting presence and a caller for her instability.
‘ perhaps we should go, ’ she doesn’t shift at all with eliza’s touch, if only a slight tension and a solemn and severe gaze that oscillates between scolding and tender. ‘ you seem to have surpassed your limit tonight. ’ better this, than she stays loose and finds trouble, besides, if spending time with raven is her goal, the demon is certain a night would be more nourishing for the both of them. it's now just the manner of convincing her without artifice. ‘ i will say it does seem you made new friends, even if unintentioned. you should say your goodbyes if you wish to stay by me. ’
She offers the possibility of relief, but he is beyond wishing to be coddled. Neji Hyūga is so close to being solved — and nothing could hurt in the way his near - sacrifice did. As her cooling touch reaches in, searing pain in the form of the hands of his ancestors starts to creep in, causing him to wince and stifle a whimper. It’s like they know she’s their salvation too — maybe that’s why they flood him, body and soul, in the way they do.
“ I was young when they did this to me. ” He says, barely above a whisper — a soft whimper accompanies it as he can feel the seal fighting back. He tries to ground himself, gripping the forehead protector he keeps in his lap. The hair against his neck is damp and he trembles, eyes squeezing shut as he feels each and every movement she makes inside, and each and every movement made inside of him from those in the seal. His immediate answer to her question is the latter — his father dead, his uncle cruel and cousin naïve. The void left behind by the actions of his clan head warped how he saw everything and everyone, left to be forcibly filled by someone he now considered a friend. The healing process was awkward and painful, but not complete. It couldn’t, until this happened. Until this was complete. In his mind, as if it were summoned by the seal in his soul, came that painful memory — being held down, crying as his own uncle branded his forehead with the very thing causing him pain. Make it stop, he silently pleads, starting to breathe slowly in an attempt to regulate the hurt that started to consume his body.
memories of pain, specially those condecorated with spiritual ties, will never welcome a weaver of solace. raven is a threat in his mind and it burdens her bones with incessant aching. merged to the pain she seizes through him by empathy, raven feels her own: the rejection of the hyūga chains hurt her, she’s an unwanted guest and neji cannot command it otherwise. ‘ too young, ’ it dawns on her that she has leave, she cannot ease this wound gently or painlessly to herself ( his repression is a laceration close to her own, the cage azar still holds over her mind ), and that he suffers by remembering. how long until her hope turns into foolishness ?
each step inside, heavy and forceful, she casts a veil of darkness around his thoughts in an effort to quiet his heart. ‘ i need you to breathe, slow, i need you to want it, ’ she moves though the obscurity, allowing the past to play out dimmed but true. she could destroy reality and make it anew, make him a different self, one that never endured endless torture against his nature. but would it be him ? would she encompass who he is without the hardship ? therefore, she will not change his past, she can’t, she would be healing another heart entirely, not the one that pleads, not the one that had earned her friendship.
‘ think of the garden, think of the trees, ’ all perfectly shaped, like any well - positioned family would, there’s cruel dignity in all important families and their greenery. the way their leaves can only see the sun where their masters permit it, in the unnatural constraint of their roots: denied bloom the monopoly of power has no place in nature. the space illuminates, the cries of the past can only be heard in the distance. ‘ what do you want to be ? who are you ? ’

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hi everyone ! this blog has been officially archived ! i am clearing out my drafts ( i have a few replies done and unformatted that i won´t move to the new one for lazyness sake ). much love see you in another dimmension ! you can unfollow this blog
what raven is saying is clear enough to him: they want him sane, fixed. with all his knowledge and competence in battle but stripped of the damage the capitol has dealt him. finnick sits up, unable to stay still any longer, and looks at his own data being showed to him (a little act of defiance, he likes it!). there's so much red underlining words, of course there is. his life under the capitol's thumb must be a glaring point of concern. but there is only one way he could ever be deemed sane enough; annie. who is being kept prisoner as he just sits here in 13, safe and miserable. she is his anchor, without her finnick would just sink below the waves never to return. his chest tightens so much that it hurts to breathe for a few seconds. he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to recall the motion of waves hitting the shore and retreating with each breath. in and out, just like the tide.
'' yes, there's someone. we can understand what the other is going through all too well. she doesn't cry half as much as i did, though, '' he admits, a rueful smile set in place. finnick's memories of his early days in 13 are hazy at best, a blur of sedatives and both pain and night terrors tearing through him. '' in the capitol there was no support group for victors, nothing so kind, but we sort of flocked to each other on our own. some of us, anyway. i think it's important, looking out for each other. ''
he is thinking of katniss. the pain of what she is going through all too familiar to him. it's not that they talk about their feelings, necessarily, but they understand each other without needing to explain much.
it cuts through his throat, merciless. still, he has to ask. '' what happens if i don't get better? '' if he finally shatters to pieces in the middle of their precious rebellion and the red in his profile ends up drowning out the rest. what then?
the air is always heavy in 13, she sets aside the medical paraphernalia aside and unshackles him from the heart contraptions, gesturing coyly towards the readjusting of his medical robe. she looks away to grant him the privacy of readjusting himself off the metal stretcher. ‘ good. we all need something, ’ she mumbles, someone, she means, but that’s a luxury not all can afford, and she’d rather not speak out the condemnation of her own loneliness into existence. ‘ … that guards our hope. it is very good, ’ it’s a pity. it’s easy not to think of herself when thinking of annie and the confession of her beloved. she’s not in charge or her file. mainly, because coin has no grand opportunities for the victor in the rebellion: deemed unfit, that, raven can’t tell finnick.
how sorrowful. their time together has probably been co-opted by 13’s strict schedules, raven seems loss in thought while adjusting her tools. she’s always wondered how lovers manage trapped in here. it cannot be harder to love in the districts, even the capitol sees less than coin does. not forbidden, but discouraged. a tool of hope, of prosperity, of continuation, but never of selfishness. the idea always felt wrong to the medic. it feels useless to love austerely, and while it’s never been on her plans she’s infinitely curious to know more about finnick and annie’s story.
a knot weaves snakelike on her throat: there are no pleasant conversations to have, her lighthearted inquisition dies as soon as it threatens to leave her tongue. she turns to face him now. ‘ i am not told, ’ like a bird, she’s always perched to listen, i am not told, but i know, she ought say. ‘ they would not let you do much, separate you if you are a liability, ’ he’s meant to be an example, a living martyr, a golden paragon to guide soldiers: optics than fury, the stable omen of their survival. ‘ we do not cast away our sick, but war is coming. ’ a sudden thought escapes her, ‘ did you all not live together ? at the village ? i mean. ’
you ask a lot of questions. for hades
even beings so powerful as the gods dream. even hades, down below in the halls of the underworld, shrouded in the lonely gloom of his empty quarters. he had not meant to fall to slumber — he seldom does so — but he had felt depleted, an ancient ache spearing his shoulder with a dull but persistent intensity, sapping his energy and souring his already grim mood.
his dreams usually come in brief flashes, gone in an instant and brushed aside as soon as his eyes snap open. but this time, it seems, is rather different; a fearsome ripple traverses all the land like the rumble of an earthquake, causing disquiet in its residents and rousing them from their tasks while their lord sleeps on, unaware.
'' i ask my due. '' he bestows @ofsoul with a glare, eyes flashing a somber silver, not at all enticed by the prospect of having an intruder in his very own dream. yet, the lord of the underworld is secretly impressed. only loathe to make such an admission. '' you are trespassing, little dyad. ''
gods are by nature, inaccessible to her kind, but demons, by nature, are hardly satisfied in stagnant obedience to the laws of cosmic order. despite her kind heart, raven is a soul - seer, not by mysticism but as a form of nourishment. it’s impossible for her to ignore the call of pain, especially when it echoes loudly through spiritual channels. it’s definitely an affront to creation, when she’s malignant and undesirable to all pantheons in perpetuum, but she’s been plagued by visions of his tired sleep, and if not just deliriously curious, she cannot believe it to be a coincidence.
at least she's cautious, when she pries upon the dream of the god, by changing nothing, only appearing as what she is, exposing herself to judgement. as expected, he gives her no time to asses the damage on his soul. it would take her years anyway, the forbidden thing it is. ‘ i am sorry, but i am not, ’ her face is visible through her cloak, she cannot hide in his domain, or at least, she isn't as foolish to try. ‘ i would not be here if you had not permitted it. ’ or his preservation skills are lacking, but she's glad her well - intentioned healing palms are called for it, if only he lets her ( restraint, however, in leaving his pain untasted, will be a challenge ). ‘ why does a king suffer ? ’
farooq-lane feels unbalanced, like the ground has shifted from under her feet, leaving her stranded. lost. this doesn't happen to her, always in control, always knowing exactly what steps to take. right now, she might as well be a foolish little girl, heart lurching in her chest and struggling to keep her expression from showing any of the turmoil inside.
raven looks too calm, too satisfied. almost eerily so. carmen doesn't believe this to be a chance meeting at all, just a stranger landing in her path with no further purpose than getting her coffee. timing is too tight. this has to be a calculated intervention — a stalling of some kind, maybe.
fists clench at her side, a ripple in her hard won façade. she recovers in her next breath, pulling her defenses back up. '' my coffee is just fine. the rest can wait a little longer. '' and it's not even a lie, only slightly ill advised. but it's fine, the dreamer in the vision wasn't running and farooq-lane is good at picking up threads, following traces like she's trained for it. besides, she still finds it so very hard to look away, let alone walk in the other direction and be done with this.
'' why don't you tell me about that dream of yours? '' she nods towards the nearby park, eager to leave the busy shop's entrance, before adding (belatedly, but honest). '' just a confidential chat. ''
there’s merit in raven’s capacity to disorient others, never fully here, pulling souls out of their shelves. it is said, if she reaches too deep, she may ruin the shape, rendering the body unfulfilling. these are not her intentions with the woman ( saintly moral doctrine spares the world from her cruelty ) but she’s not above prying. raven has no way of knowing if it’s her own empath - manipulation that harnesses carmen’s attention in the darkness of her space, or if it’s by innate curiosity demanding the resolution of the mysteries presented. she had been vague and severe by design. it almost brings a smile to her that her simple tricks are enticing enough to distract from the path of violence, and while hearts cannot be changed so easily, they can be denied from their passions. that, raven knows too well, although if carmen’s harsh duties have rotten as far down to her heart, she’s yet to tell.
‘ i would have not interrupted your peace otherwise, ’ the shorter woman leads the way gracefully unconcerned. despite the unelegant crimples in her hair and untidy violet under -eyes, it’s as if the world around them couldn’t touch the, the embrace of nature relaxes the hidden compression on her chest, as if the rees absorbed the cacophony of hurt and fury lingering in every soul in the street. she sits by a bench suspiciously left unoccupied only seconds before. a magpie perches by the demon’s feet, winnowing crumbs from the cobblestone. ‘ a woman not unlike you was with me, she took me to a park like this, but her coffee was blood, she couldn’t help but cry it out. but it could have not possibly been you. you do not seem to cry at all, that must mean what you have to drink satisfies you. even if it is bitter. ’
POISED BEFORE THE VANITY MIRROR , THE REFLECTION ITSELF IS A VICE. at the altar of conceit, the carefully cultivated regality that she adorns herself in. leaning in close she is generous with the antimony she uses to line her eyes and coat her lashes. beyond herself in the glass, there is the dire figure of the empath enveloped in shadow. stealing umbras in her pacing and then the hardened look they share when their gazes meet in the silvered surface.
❛ you do love a dire prophecy, don't you? ❜ halting her primping, she leans back on the stool to observe her handiwork from a distance. these visits were confined to the heady sway of summer and with a hint of briskness in the air it meant their time together was coming to a close. GOOD RIDDANCE TO SO MUCH TART! she may favor the sour but not when it wore such a face. ❛ well, are you going to tell it to me or not, cousin... ❜ growing quiet was unlike the wise bird, she always had her unsolicited riddles to impart.
{ 𝕾TARTER 𝕮ALL 𓂃₊☁︎ for @ofsoul
﹙ ✷ ﹚‘ i thought you would tell, ’ the shadows of sovereign halls welcome her, despite the ruler’s apparent resistance towards their embrace. night or day, there’s always darkness for raven to appear unannounced, after days of roaming the lands and finding her footing in the heartache of wintry politics. you’ve nourished the black heart of the palace, your majesty, do not feign complete disdain. ‘ i sent you dreams. did you not hear their warnings ? ’ it should’ve been kinship that makes the cloaked girl comfortable despite how her limbs stiffen around war, instead, it’s something she’s yet to decipher.
she feels duty, even compassion towards the ruler, however, the flavor of curiosity stains her tongue. how empath cognition manifests so adversarial between them, vim bred from the same lineage, is a mystery she seeks to unlace. a concealed purpose of her visits, married to the responsibility to see kindness fall upon this soil. she’s plagued zoya with images of godhood, wishing to earn favor as a painter of omens, yet she’s wary of her own jealousy. raven has only ever wanted to be a saint, but there’s something rotten and undeserving within her. her hopes stare back with the iciest of blues ‘ you are hiding behind force. your soul will grow weak and cruel, and i may not be able to rescue it. ’ @dvaurga

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sebastian brings raven a book, slips it into her hands, and says "this reminded me of you when i saw it."
unprompted softness﹙ ✷ ﹚@wineassassin
there might not be a more pure - hearted offer for a creature like raven ( a bookworm, at that, not the more foul things in her blood ) than the memory of her woven into pages. she’s always found sebastian’s taste in literature classic and enjoyable, often finding herself sneaking a few books from his library for her temporary enjoyment. she always ensures to return them into their rightful place, sometimes hiding a dried flower or two to be grateful for this silent arrangement. there’s little else she can do for a man so secretive, and in lieu of learning how to buy good wine, she prefers to do simple things.
her efforts might have borne fruit when he comes, book in hand, ready to give her something. she’s embroidered enough good - will into the universe in his name to think she might allow herself to accept it, not just for his sake and to honor his kind intentions, but for her own pleasure. it’s a bit scary and a bit exciting to think of his perception of her so carefully mirrored in a story. the first thing she notices is the way his soul has stained it, specially through the end of the book: it leads her to believe he might’ve enjoyed it, which makes her feel a bit shy and delighted at once. all she hides in a solemn, yet gentle expression. ‘ you did not have to, sebastian. but you know i cannot say no to a book, ’ clutches it into her chest, denying herself the ability to read the title. she must hear from him first. ‘ why did you ? ’
Human movies were so entertaining and interesting — portraying different parts of history ( what she assumed, at least. She was dreadfully behind on that kind of thing ) for people far in the future to watch. Why Raven decided to be dramatic, she did not know. But it reels her in hook, line, and sinker, with Koriand'r leaning forward, eyes wide as she awaits what could potentially sink such a powerful person into despair.
“ But he's so adorable. ” She stands up, walking over to the TV and pointing at him. “ I do not believe he causes such levels of despair when the hat he wears is so cute. ” Koriand'r turns around, hands on her hips with an eyebrow raised at her friend. “ Why can't we watch the movie, Raven? Is that not what this — ” The Tamaranean motions to the bottle of wine, face masks, and candles, then turns her attention back to the other. “ Is for? A silly little movie cannot be so horrible that it will thrust you into despair. ”
﹙ ✷ ﹚visual entertainment had never been her priority upon her own arrival: drowning herself in books, believing them the most unadulterated version of this dimension’s reality. but so is the power of a green - eyed princess: it’s not with malice that she convinces, raven can feel the curious joy of koriand’r and finds it hard to resist. her inner - struggles are not fully voiced, after all, there is little arguing to be done. raven is already in her sleep robe, sitting as a patient child ready to be convinced despite her tormented refusal. the sun - blazed woman is her easiest subduer for the dour void in her chest.
‘ yes… ’ not looking away, plastering her dark, severe gaze, something in her lips seems oo soften. it renders her vulnerable to confess something as simple as preference. ‘ … the hat is charming… ’ oh, this is mortifying. is it soon enough to hide ? no, she mustn't break her friend’s heart. ‘ … as is their proclivity to show tenderness to horses, ’ a deep breath, she encourages herself. ‘ human history is rough… perhaps… we can… perhaps you are right, i should relax… ’ her words trail as mist, in her melancholic disposition, there’s some defeat. ‘ do you believe wine would help ? ’
she had though him fierce and heartless, and he wonders what much has changed. it is not the bloodshed that betrays her but the weak motive of her own complaints. there is little doubt that raven is different, both from him and the world that coalesces around him, and no dime or soft touch could part him from what he wanted once he set his mind on something to have it. when she speaks, he takes the delight of it shamelessly; it's much like the chessboard all over again, where she spies in his movements some manner of scheming, and his lips, bound to truth by oath, merely shrug at the implication as he does so now, hovering over her with a hand beneath her leg.
❛❛ i led you the hell nowhere. it's you i was following, where have you led us? ❜❜ and he turns it around quick as that, another smile pressed to the skin by her ankle. her anger is pointless when he it is the very thing he desires, but the teachings of the parcae have stood by him resolutely; never correct your opposite when they're making a mistake that gets you what you want. with her hair fanning around her, he leans closer, sandal scraping the floor, and drops a hand over the mattress by her hip. ❛❛ unforgivable, irredeemable . . . ❜❜
is that what she wanted? slowly, he shifts his hand, places it by her head. her leg is lowered and hooked to his waist, and when his lips part for a sigh, he pressed it by the crook of her neck. ❛❛ you must have dropped your guard, because i don't remember when i stopped. ❜❜ the surface of his cheeks shimmer with heat, light, and the shine in his eyes catch against ever tough swallow that bobs her throat or the flutter of nerves he detects in the erratic temperature of her chest. mouthing at her neck, he lets his fingers dig into the sheets and her fanned out hair, the palm at her leg swaying up along her thigh.
❛❛ fine. don't forgive me. ❜❜ pulling back, they are half tangled enough that he can catch her eyes and hover, withdrawing his hands if only to unclasp the cloak from his shoulders. ❛❛ i'll be the bigger person and forgive you when you change your mind. ❜❜
his hands grazing along skin she didn’t know is sensitive, his words tugging nerves: he pulls her mercilessly from all fronts, so much she’s forgetting to care for her breathing, plagued by him alone, she has little time to think of her own suffering or sacrificial restraints. can she believe him ? duplicitous star, drilling her neck with his burning breath, she molds like mist around him, seeking his curls with her hands, tendrils of darkness growing from under the bed’s shadows to frame him like a halo, exacerbating his torturous and beautiful brightness. she could not wait to eat the gold off his skin, hollowing her stomach as if waiting for him to fill it. this, she couldn’t dare say or ask, but she could only picture him bared as her darkness presses around his sides, burning from his radiating proximity in pleasurable pain. that much shows in her face when their eyes meet again, held by her less than gentle beckoning of her claws.
‘ have i ? ’ she asks innocently, a hand lowering from his head towards his cheek, ghostly fingers tracing his jaw, only alluding to wanting to paint over his teeth. ‘ then, i am terribly sorry, kenneth, ’ she says it as tenderly as a drowning, breathless peony. ‘ i have never felt so lost, we both must be, then. ’ not aimless, but in a battleground built for him to enjoy the conquering of her enslaved selves. ‘ i have led us, ’ she says not without much certainty, but warming herself to the flattering idea: has he been looking for this long ? has he believed her worthy of the leadership of his heart ? her lips graze against his momentarily to soothe the loudness of her thoughts, but she pulls back. he’s pridefully enamored with his unfair return of the blame, and if she kisses him, she fears she might draw blood. even in her inexperience, she likes the idea of leading him, who she believes to be untamable.
her darkness curls around his shoulders, prodding along his neckline, but her hands both remain on his face and hair, her leg unable to untwist from his hip. she feels virtuous, the action is forbidden and unholy, to be close, but her feelings feel far from malignant. selfish, cold, cruel sun, she had condemned him before, yet she’s never felt her own desires and agency be as important as they do against this eyes. rather than a plaything to his enjoyment, she suspects his satisfaction being dealt best when her whims are spoken in unison to his. but is it delirium or reciprocity ? ‘ does it not please you ? to make me angry ? ’ her nose pressed against him. the hold her voids have on him is feeble, subconscious and in turn, easy to kill by his light if he desires. ‘ you make me feel so much, too much, not enough, i might have lead us to perdition. ’
doing some fall cleaning, i'm taking a break from writing to set everything up. i pretty much queued everything i owe that i will reply to ( or drafted it in the new blog ), i need to regroup and focus on a few irl things. see you in a new space when the queue runs out <3 i will be continuing the interactions here, so worry not, i just need the peace of mind.
ok so game plan is pausing until october comes so i can deal w/ a few things. if you see me, it's by the queue. love to all <3
the scope of raven's powers still remains a mystery to him , if only because he hasn't been able to truly speak out loud & query her properly. if he had met raven during his original time period , he might have been frightened of the prospect of such power , but with things having changed now that he lives in the modern time , he's become quite fascinated by it , curious how she can effortlessly mend rotting flesh & aching wounds as if he had never been buried in the ground in the first place. she has bewitched him the moment he was able to truly lay his eyes on her , & the longer they spent together , the more he finds himself unable to resist remaining at her side. he understands the circumstances of his return to this earth make his romantic yearnings incredibly impossible. after all , she is the reason for his life , & that no doubt makes their relationship a bit complicated from the start. still , ever the artist , the creature continues to admire & yearn for the saint anyway , his now beating heart pumping & skipping a beat anytime she speaks , her voice melodic & more beautiful than any sonata he could ever write. perhaps his death was a thing to be celebrated despite it's dramatic end. it must be , he thinks , if it led him to her.
as expected , raven meets his concern with reassurance & her own worries. ever the empathetic soul , always caring for others ━━ another reason why the creature can resist his growing feelings. upon her suggestion over a warm drink back at home , he smiles & offers her a nod in agreement , greatly enjoying the idea. he's always been one to drink tea every morning during the cold winter nights during his original time period , but he has become quite fond of hot chocolate recently , particularly the delicious cream that is placed on top from a loud can , along with little colorful sweets that create an amusing display. before they begin their trek back , the creature makes a grunting noise as he removes his coat , placing it around raven's shoulders with gentle precision. ❝ . . . here. ❞ the sound comes out strained ━━ a croak almost , but the word is clearer than ever before. another smile is offered in addition to his arm , prepared to walk back with her so they can enjoy warmer temperatures back home.
her desires to ask more of him, of his life, his tragedies, his story have been drowned in the sensitivities of not wanting to overwhelm him. raven found herself in the public records archive of the library of the town that saw his burial, but she’s found nothing yet. her hope has not dissipated, however. she finds it renewed every time she catches a glimpse of warm liveliness in his eyes. she’s proud of him for enduring, it cannot be easy to live again, he had seen his end too young, she saw a lonely tenderness in his eye she could only interpret as sorrow, an aching her darker sides of her ache to devour.
all she can indulge in is seeing the way his soul re-weaves itself in his body. he’s a curious man in his undead pacing and gentle demeanor. a stillness she’s slowly mending into life, a melancholic artistry to his rebuilt hands. she remembers the first touch against rotting flesh, no fear or disgust filling her kind features, a perpetual lover of the unloved, a mist - soft embrace. she had promised him then he had nothing to fear, and that she’ll care for him. it’s a promise she holds dearly and responsibly, and secretly, with excitement. there’s so much undiscovered in the world for her, it’s nice to have someone to share the novelty with.
adjusting his coat, a rare permission to be tended to, only because she has no heart to deny him. she doesn’t deserve his generosity, she fears for his cold much more than she does her own, but she’s lost in thought of being impressed with the development of his motor skills and wondering if these gestures of chivalry were common for him before his rebirth. all she knew of him had been revealed on his tomb, unmarried, she hopes, that doesn’t mean unloved.
she shifts their path by beckoning one of his hands by the wrist, a soft thumb caressing his blood into his veins, an innocent look shooting back at him as they walk. ‘ you do not have to care for me, ’ she wishes to say his name here, humanize him, get close in soul in ways she’s unable by her own faux - unfeeling, repressed doctrine. ‘ you are still adjusting. ’ not one to fear vulnerability, she still tries to ease his mood. succumbing to the dour airs of darkness and death between them make her wish to be a moon to guide him through the eternal night of sadness. ‘ maybe we can practice reading today, after your throat is warm, but you have not yet told me your favorite kind of stories to read. ’ in a cloud of darkness they appear in her apartment, rushed by her power to spare him from the cold.

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grief-stricken eyebrows furrow at the word: shame. what was there to be ashamed of? so much worry was being scrubbed into the entirety of the solar—being; you could almost see the snipping of her very heart strings at beloved lune’s flinch away from her touch. she was breaking her heart slowly. but still… she had to try. optimism weaves its way into a grief-stricken throat, “ i do —————— i do understand —————— it is not shame that i see, raven, it is honesty… it is passion… it is strength. you have always carried an abundance of it. “ but you lack truth today: it was not said, but the echo of her mind’s eye was enough to shatter a cathedral.
“ you mis—— “ sentence cut as it begins: a retreat back to her thoughts. pursued lips take a moment before offering… what she thought should be a comfort. “ you underestimate their capacity… their goodness. they love you. i love you. “ she does not wish this, evident in the way clasped palms never seize to stop shifting in front, self-soothing motions to calm every emotion that dares to bubble in. but this is not about her. star is trying to understand that. “ i vow myself to secrecy. i know that is what you wish. i will honor it & i will never breath anything to another soul. and i am… sorry that this is something i have to keep. “ there’s something haunting about this that koriand’r can’t quite put her finger on; nor does she wish to. eyes drop to ask one more question, “ would you like me to rid you of my presence as well ... ? “ it already stings… but to leave makes her nauseous. but if she were to request it, that’s another vow she would take.
‘ you may… but you do not know me, not the real me, ’ it hurts, it hurts horribly to be told she’s loved when she shouldn’t be. look at you raven, cruel creature, your friend bleeds her precious heart in care and all you can do is deny her. the empath can’t do anything but hide her shame, tormented by the emotions pouring from koriand’r. it’s a complex thing, to comfort an empath: sympathy for a pain eater just feels like an offering. so, while the pure - hearted gesture of the tamarean’s presence should comfort her, it forces her to pull away further. cast aside the warmth, she drowns in the coldness of her own pools of void.
still, when the threat of abandonment comes, she feels as if a sword will be ripped from her aching chest. it might hurt the dyad to have the bright green perception latched onto her miserable state, but it’s as if death will come if she leaves. ‘ y- you do not have to go. ’ an embarrassed look up, then down, a dance that craves and hides from the sun’s pyre. raven clutches into her cloak, remaining shadowed as she musters bravery to speak with sincerity. ‘ i am not expecting you to understand, koriand’r. i am not expecting you to sacrifice your integrity for me, i just… ’ what is she truly hoping for ? such is the disconnect from her heart and her brain, her desires are inaccessible, even if they sliver through her actions. the tower feels colder by the seconds. what she does instead is further sink into her despair, a confession, a condemnation: ‘ i am not good, koriand’r. i do not deserve your kindness. ’
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