#catte-bard

Celia signs, “I enjoyed reading as a child, and I enjoyed playing the violin. I still enjoy both. Eorzeans have such fascinating literature… But I haven’t touched a violin in a long time.”

Caius, as a young boy, fancied himself an artist, and he had enough talent to back it up. But after Cato’s death, he looked for something else, and the Aunt introduced him to one of her own hobbies–fencing. He still draws, albeit just absentminded doodles in the margins of pages, but if you were to ask him about it now, he would vehemently deny it.

↽──── She’d been standing in front of the Forgotten Springs for awhile, simply watching the adventurers come and go. The faces she saw willing to try and face the desert just outside the spring was almost a breath of hope. This was supposed to be a small break to simply enjoy the springs and relax a little before pushing on to meet up with the others once more. However, it seemed luck never wanted to give the Elezen a break. She had only taken a few steps into the settlement, eyes beginning to search for a place to change for a rest in the springs below, when the sounds of a struggle caught her attention. 

The Elezen spun around in time to see the swarm of Sandworms charging into the springs with a strong dedication. The U Tribe had certainly taken to defend their springs, but the amount of Sandworms seems too much. “ I better get the soak of my LIFE after this. ” She muttered under her breath before pulling her staff off her back. Perhaps using her White Mage abilities would be more useful in this instance than taking to her sword immediately.

Awww, thank you, @catte-bard <3

MEMORY MEME. / ACCEPTING ALWAYS.  

 AKA It Is Angst Time.

She decays.

She decays for she loves. 

Her love is violent and lovely, all at once.

Her rib is a cage, for her heart yearns to be free ‘neath ivory and flesh.

Her body is a temple—soon to be ruined, cracks betwixt marble and darkness raging against flesh. Her lips part, and such divinity spills. Such horror beats in her heart, with each moment that flows by.

Time… ‘Twas never enough. This is not enough.

Time ebbs and flows. It is oh, so slow at times—slow as a rebirth of divinity—but as swift as a goddess’ curse blessing, raging.

The Warrior of Light hangs before her in the endless dark. The light of the crystal illuminates all, in blue light. 

Hydaelyn whispers and whispers of the truth.

Minfilia cannot say what is unsaid. The chains of light, choke her and it BURNS when she seeks the gift to speak. 

Hydaelyn is a cruel, cruel goddess, she finds. She fills her. She burrows herself into marrow, veins and in her mind. She will not let her speak. She will not let her have this.

Loyalty, loyalty, LOYALTY. LOOK AT WHAT THOU HATH DONE.

MY DEVOTION IS ENDLESS, I SWEAR. I SWEAR.

DO NOT DENY.

DO NOT DENY.

She is naught but the light, she feels it—the burn of her own crimson ( OR WAS IT LIGHT? GOLDEN AND BEAUTIFUL LIKE SHE WAS ? )  in veins and tears against the curvature of cheeks.

Please…

Her temple trembles, strength waning. Hands move to rest above her heart, as she screams and screams. The Warrior does not hear. Her agony is a wretched, ugly thing that digs its claws into her, and memories bleed.

She sees the Warrior’s smile and her own, after a quiet victory. She takes them, into her embrace. 

My friend, I need—

❝ My blessed children, go forth and seek… seek… ❞

I LOVE YOU. I WISH OUR TIME WAS ENOUGH.

The Warrior reaches for her—for Hydaelyn, and it is futile.

Celia’s brow furrows. Heard of… her? Her? 

She glances about, searching for anyone else that the statement may have been directed at, before slowly raising a hand to point at herself with a confused frown.