#ghafaith

𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖 & 𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒

he    couldn’t    think    of    anything    that    was    easier    said    than    done    &&    not    for    the    last    of    trying    .    in    fact    ,    if    he    were    to    guess    as    to    why    no    endeavour    in    the    world    ,    from    infiltrating    foreign    maximum    security    prisons    to    wading    ones    way    through    the    frozen    waters    of    the    ketterdam    canal    back    to    shore    &&    back    to    safety    to    survive    the    perilous    slums    of    the    barrel    for    months    ,    wylan’s    best    guess    was    that    his    limbs    were    sore    .    something    pounded    in    his    head    ,    its    source    impossible    to    localise    ,    that    made    it    feel    like    inej    had    taken    one    of    her    saints    and    begun    hacking    away    at    it    ,    bit    by    bit    .    his    arms    felt    heavy    at    his    sides    as    though    she’d    hung    weights    from    them    whereas    in    stark    contrast    ,    his    legs    felt    barely    attached    to    his    body    ,    just    two    feathers    he    willed    to    move    in    accordance    with    the    motions    he’d    been    shown    previously    but    to    no    avail    .    the    bruises    that    were    forming    on    his    skin    pulsated    the    harder    he    tried    ,    too    .    wylan    made    a    mental    note    to    drink    one    of    his    makeshift    arsenic    compounds    the    next    time    the    brilliant    idea    of    asking    the    wraith    herself    to    teach    him    self    defense    struck    him    .    

his    eyes,    the    color    of    bitter    coffee,    narrow    slightly    at    her    words    ;    a    moment    of    thoughtful    consideration,    as    if    he    had    not    realized    the    truth    of    such    a    statement    until    the    wraith    had    decided    to    deliver    the    message    herself.    «        is    there,    really    ?        »    a    demand    for    certitude    that    would    surely    look    like    indifference    if    the    wraith    did    not    know    any    better.    &    had    there    been    anyone    else    in    the    room,    perhaps    the    slow    rasp    of    his    voice    wouldn't    have    sounded    quite    so    soft    either    --    but    it    would    be    blasphemous    to    destroy    the    quiet    peace    that    they    have    achieved    here,    with    inej    sitting    by    the    window    sill    &    him    at    his    desk.    he    knows,    from    the    various    looks    that    marks    have    on    their    faces    when    they    set    foot    upon    the    streets    of    ketterdam,    that    the    city    is    not    always    what    one    would    want    to    see    --    too    crowded,    too    dirty,    too    violent.    in    the    midst    of    machines    &    the    screams    of    men,    it    is    oh    so    easy    to    lose    yourself    to    the    frenzy    of    the    city    life.    that    is    why    he    liked    it,    at    first.    the    realization    that    you    could    become    anyone    --    the    fact    that    you    had    to    become    someone,    if    you    did    not    want    ketterdam    to    swallow    you    whole.    

but    here,    with    the    girl    on    the    window    sill    &    moonlight    shining    above    her,    the    sleeping    city    &    its    unremitting    noise    reduced    to    a    low    rumble    ...    perhaps    there    are    more    things    to    life    than    working    your    way    out    of    the    dirt.    and    if    there    are,    it    is    late    enough    into    the    night    that    he    can    acknowledge    his    own    desire    to    discover    them.    to    approach    them    close    enough    to    touch.    «        perhaps    you    are    right.    but    the    thing    you    live    for    usually    is    the    thing    that    gets    you    killed.        »    a    flash    of    memory    ;    a    look    thrown    at    his    wraith,    a    moment    of    weakness    he    still    has    trouble    forgiving    himself    for.    his    gloved    fingers    tap    slightly    on    the    desk    as    he    resumes    his    position    toward    the    stack    of    paper    he    had    been    working    on.    «        and    we    are    not    the    kind    of    people    who    can    afford    that    kind    of    risk,    are    we    ?        »    if    he    dared    to    look    at    her    one    more    time,    then    the    answer    would    come    as    surely    as    sea    water    toward    the    shore    ...    a    resounding    yes,    we    are.    but    he    is    already    classifying    the    diverse    documents,    eyes    faraway    from    inej's    silhouette,    even    if    his    traitorous    thoughts    are    not.

@ghafaith​ said:   “just don’t lie to me.”

“The life I had is gone. There’s no getting it back. I’d rather make a new one. A better one.” His voice sounds low and hesitant, almost as if he’s afraid of the confession. And in a way Matthias is, because saying it out loud makes it that much more real. 

@ghafaith​​   sent:      ❛    cross your heart,     won’t tell no other.    ❜       —     accepting. 

the understated charm of a bird in flight:      it is freedom and fear in unholy matrimony,      a tightrope pulled impossibly taut.      pallid wings donned hesitantly upon fevered exodus must be clipped now,      hidden beneath a linen cloak thinly embroidered with her hopes and dreams.       the city looms large,      a great metropolitan jungle with concrete foliage and grease - slicked rivers,      all fed and fertilized by wealth.      such a consummate contrast from fjerda and its unforgiving ice,      or from djerholm,      prepossessing even in austerity.      a winter bird has no place amongst such vibrancy.

the woman standing before her is young,      younger than even her sister,      she thinks      —      resolutely ignoring the sudden ebullitions of sorrow and regret that clutch at her chest,      twin fists trading blows in the atria of her.      so soon into her pilgrimage,      she is loath to trust,      even just a modicum.      relief is a balm that assuages her frayed nerves at the epiphany that this is not trust;      this is a transaction,      instituted by the crossing of her heart.

𝟑, 𝟒, 𝟓   ♡   𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

those  words  were  not  unknown  or  unfamiliar  to  him  in  any  capacity  .  he’d  thought  them  himself  ,  on  numerous  occasions  .  only  ,  when  he  echoed  her  thought  it  was  all  about  the  members  of  their  crew  .  it  was  often  hard  not  to  think  of  what  they  all  might  have  been  ,  had  they  been  dealt  a  better  hand  of  cards  &&  in  particular  ,  how  each  of  their  particular  skill  sets  might  have  helped  them  build  a  better  tomorrow  for  themselves  .  he  could  see  it  in  their  conviction  ,  in  their  strength  &&  resilience  ,  how  these  were  the  only  people  ,  his  people  ,  that  dared  to  stand  facing  the  most  draconic  trials  their  lot  in  life  could  have  thrown  at  them  &&  still  came  out  on  top  .  but  mostly  ,  he  saw  it  in  inej’s  kindness  ,  in  her  infinite  wisdom  ,  her  ever  soothing  presence  a  pillar  in  all  of  their  lives  .