d a r k l i n g

          SHE SNIFFS, WIPES HER EYES, tries to regain some semblance of self-control.  signy knows how she must look to him : pathetic, begging for a scrap of pity she doesn’t deserve.  but she can’t just turn away and leave, because that means truly admitting that there is no reversing this, that she’s fucked it up beyond repair, and it almost makes her cry again.     ❛  will you just let me talk to her for a minute?  ❜     this time, her voice is steadier, but the effort to make it so is plain.  signy feels like something inside her is falling apart, something previously steady now shattered, fragile as glass.     ❛  can you ask her if she’ll see me?  just—just for a minute, please.  ❜     ulla might be just a few rooms away.  she wants to call out to her, but courage only goes so far.  hearing it from aleksander is one thing, but to have ulla reject her to her face would be more than she could take.  

          HE HASN’T SAID ANYTHING she doesn’t deserve to hear, but her eyes blur over with tears regardless.  how did things go so wrong so fast?  ulla has always been constant, loyal at signy’s side, the two of them against the world forever—but how fast did signy let go when she thought she saw an opportunity for something more?  had she truly thought ulla would understand?  or had she simply not wanted to look too closely at what she was doing?     ❛  please, i need to explain…  ❜     cold fear curls in the pit of her stomach : she can explain nothing ulla doesn’t already understand.  that’s what’s driven a wedge between them.  she can’t undo what’s done, and ulla can’t un-know it.     ❛  at least let me tell her i’m sorry.  ❜     tears spill over, translucent pearls on ivory cheeks.  her voice shakes.     ❛  she has to know i’m sorry.  ❜

@ravkaneclipse​: ❛ speaking of tragic mistakes… ❜ // hey signy~~~

          ❛  CAN I PLEASE SEE ULLA?  ❜     despite the way she huffs a sigh, arms folded, her voice sounds very small.  she’s bitten her lip hard enough to draw blood on the walk over, and she can feel her cheeks flush the same vibrant red as ulla’s brother looks her over.  he knows.  of course he does.     ❛  i need to talk to her.  ❜     and say what, exactly, that can make this better?  truth be told, signy hasn’t gotten that far yet.  all she knows is that she needs to see ulla, desperately, needs to say something, anything, that will make her friend listen before slamming a door in signy’s face. something to wind back the clock and make the past week never have happened.     ❛  just for a few minutes, aleksander, please.  ❜

“     i mourned you.     “     anger cuts through your words     ,     eyes narrowed onto him.     you consider blinding him with a flash of sunlight     ,     just to be petty.     but you don’t     ,     your hands stay curled into fists by your sides.     one simple swing of your arm and you could get pay back for his disappearing act     ,     but you won’t.     “     you have a grave outside and everything.     wondering who they actually put in that     ,     right about now.     “

@ravkaneclipse     /     random.

Macbeth:

the howl of wolves. moonless nights. dirt under fingernails. stained silk. chattering teeth. voices hoarse and cracked. rotting fruit. echoing drums. dry heaving. hanging cobwebs. stifling humidity. bloodshot eyes. the roughness of rusted steel. wild rosebushes. muscle cramps. the sound of splintering wood.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream:

crackling fires. ivy crawling on stone. the faint music of running water. petrichor. dirty, bare feet. tattered clothing. thistledown. wilted wildflower crowns. late evening birdsong. curling leaves. a symphony of croaking frogs. drifting feathers. the eerie sound of windchimes at night. humming bees. beds of clover.

Romeo and Juliet:

warm golden lamplight. worn shoes. crumbling brick walls. whispered poetry. embroidered satin. cool, hazy mornings. tousled hair. rosewater. flushed cheeks. distant orchestras. unfinished marble statues. cobblestone streets. loose threads. ink smudged on parchment. tapping fingers. dust illuminated by sunlight. poison vials.

Hamlet:

shattered glass. a cluster of fraying ribbons. unanswered knocks on doors. lingering dampness. white noise. inexplicable drafts. migraines. bleeding ears. the taste of metal. reflected mirrors. dry, cracked lips. the sound of tearing paper. fogged windows. memories of dreams. tarnished silver. protruding veins.

ding dong the darkling’s dead || accepting

save or doom? || accepting

“starkov is missing.” ivan’s voice was clear, and yet the darkling could tell that the heartrender was worried about his leader’s reaction to the news. for good reason too, as alina had been so integral to his plans, but that was a secret only two people knew. only two people in all of ravka.

only he and his mother.

a flick of the wrist dismissed ivan, leaving the darkling alone in his war room once more. it had been suspicious when she had suddenly taken ill after the fetê, but he had brushed it off as too much champagne with genya. clearly, he was wrong. what had happened to change her mind, to hide away from him and leave os alta in the dead of night.

grey eyes narrowed, jaw tensing at the thought coming to mind as he rose once more. time to visit his mother’s hut, to see just what she had said to the sun summoner. if she had, indeed, caused this escape. a futile one, aleksander knew, for he knew ravka and her hiding places far better than anyone barring baghra herself.