@foulwaters sought: “ Am I going to die? ” / heyhey hjey kiwi
she could remember the first time she’d been asked, an ingenue enraptured by that ever hungry yearning for more, more, more knowledge, discoveries, the world at the tip of moon swept fingers — naivete clinging to the curves of her hands, wide eyes, and oh, how ignorant she was to it all; just a junior apprentice, midway into her studies and but a young teen, all overconfidence and clueless challenges as if she could have known, as if her mentor might have prepared her more ‘fore the eve that the challenge was uttered forth, reticent acceptance and the question was asked. it was there that effervescent vigor met a stare so unbidden, withering and heartbreaking all at once, and she saw — oh, mona foresaw that which shook her to the core, brief glimpses, faded and warped and harrowing all the same. she’d avoided her mentor for weeks after the fact, gaze cast aside lest she lay privy to a sight most unwanted.
for it was no easy feat to read so brusquely into one’s future, to read the heavens and unfurl the soul like open windows to an unwelcome home. to see one’s path come to a halt offered no comfort to the heart nor mind, and though she was no longer a stranger to the sight of death at the behest of ignorant travelers, no more a child tactless and naive, there was nothing that could ever prepare her and there never would be. death was a constant, an inevitability, she knew so and yet despite, despite, despite she refused to harden herself in the face of it for she feared her gaze might one day match the same broken stare of hers, no matter how gut wrenching the sight she’d never turn to stone.
dread had an unfortunate way of snaking through the lungs like salt water swallowed, encompassing and suffocating all at once. shaky breaths fall from pale lips, a beautiful contrast to the red, all the red that coated the cool expanse of gloved fingers and stained the blue of her, stained his fiery tufts and the warm ground beneath, a macabre display laid garishly before her — and with unsteady hands, sea glass eyes which flittered ‘tween him and the illusory constellation that withheld every celestial wonder with each unnervingly calm ripple ‘cross sign and star, she witnessed it. brief, ever so brief, faint, distorted, but enough, enough to know it wasn’t here, today the weary may not rest. another day, may he stand.
❝ not — not here, you will live another twilight. had — had i not teleported us out of that disast — ❞, frustration laces itself ‘tween each gasped out syllable, a hollowed crescendo of slow agitation and adrenaline. huffed, breathless, sighs mask trembling fingers with a bravado she’s all too familiar to envelop herself in, and she harshly tugs off stained gloves to wipe at sweat stained brows; pallid digits shortly running through dark strands to soothe and fix, distressed stare nothing short of burning holes into the mussed earth, unable to meet his, unwilling. a cold comparison to the fury that laid heavy on her tongue.
❝ — disasterous mess, though i’m sure you’re aware. are you that hungry for battle ? do — do you not think, is your blade where all logic lies ? imbecile. you should be on your knees — groveling, had it not been for i, we — i might not have survived. when will you learn that death is no game you can play, you may not have died here but it — it is inevitable, it will come and raze earth, sky and flesh alike. do not think for a second you are exempt. ❞