#grievice

                   @grievice  : ❝ you don’t have to hide them around me. the scars are just part of who you are. and i like all of what i see. ❞ // from naoya @grievice !! 

                   Which face? A hand that moves quickly revealing another, an assortment that is drawn, like a mask made of the finest of porcelains && another shall be discarded. Soft, round cheeks with a small nose, rose shaped pout that upturns gracefully, that was not the real Sayuri. With radiant emerald eyes && cheekbones that were razor sharp, a woman that was marred with a gashing scar across the bridge of her nose, her smile that was melancholy from youth && naughty. It was customary of Kobayashi women to attune their beauty however they saw fit, impeccable creatures that were heavenly in their displays of grandeur && others preferred to remain remnants of their curse; monstrous && cruel. The small gift from girlhood, where she learned quickly to conjure the cosmos in her hues, milky in pulls of celestial bliss.

        He drew no delight from such trickery, enough that her heart would wilt in confusion, why? She could never understand. “This visage displeases me” plainly, she utters the words, hands clasping upon her lap as the imagery shatters. Fragmented into shards, it leaves her vulnerable to be seen, stripped of bindings && glamor, torn apart from what kept the inner confines of her soul safe. Sayuri was unsure of such sincerity came from sympathy but, the Zen’ins were not known for this, a weak heart brought them no joy && was instantly deemed one that could not survive, she knew better than to suspect such things. Laughter bubbling in the confines of her chest, there were times she pondered, what brought them terror? The knowledge she could move amongst their own, wearing a face of a beloved son or adoring wife or that the scars upon her were a reminder; she would bring ruin if given the chance. “Tch, how many times have we fought over this pointless argument?” Yet, she hadn’t the heart to acknowledge it was her pride that forbade her from accepting what was imposed, failure that came from each laceration, where the pain was blistering hot && searing.

        Flesh, in ribbons she remembers then it becomes stagnant, numbing, in the midst of chaos there is a crown she wishes to rebuke, ever the faithful, she wears it with reluctance. “It becomes that of breathing, after a while, I begin to forget there is another’s skin I wear” the impossible distance she has placed, far from those she held dear within her heart, the fabled belief that in this deception; she could keep them safe. Earnest in her wording, it was strange to speak of the centuries old technique, prized && beheld by few within the lineage that stressed outsiders were never to learn the inner workings of their sanctum. She cups his jawline, ravenous to feel closer, anything to ward away the chill that remains within her bones when she depicts honesty.

                                    @grievice   : "You don't have to hide them around me. The scars are just part of who you are, and I like all of what I see."

                Tattered, in ribbons the flesh dangled, she touched her cheek && bore a snarl. A rabbit hearted girl, thunderous her heart would pound, like a war drum that refused to succumb. Deity, there was forewarning in the word alone, your first solo assignment - how exciting. As the summer slipped through her grasp, the shattering of her heart bore itself into several shards, each she wished to grasp && reclaim, haphazardly fixing them with gold. Every God needs their altar, a sacrificial lamb to please upon it, bled in an illumination of crimson, for second it appears like wine gathering in her palms, soaking the bindings. Godhood was merely girlhood, the suffering, sin && virtue, to be flayed without a moment of hesitation, the executioner && wayward daughter. Emerging, she holds the corpse of what was innocent && pure, crystalline tears that fall onto the soft white of her blouse, everything aches.

           That is rebirth, sacrifice && tribulation, Goddess! Stronger than steel, unbending like iron, the shatter of storms - Goddess of the Feast who sups on the flesh of the divine. Glory was given in momentary sums, she flees without warning, the rabbit wishes to find a burrow && rebuke her newfound status. She’s dead, the rumors echoe, but hasn’t she always been? Between the cups of coffee && deep obsidian brews, there was a happiness that blossomed in her chest. From the withered cavern where her heart once reigned; sunflowers began to crawl towards the skies.

              Rightfully, she wishes to howl in indignation, he should have never bothered to retrieve her. The age where they clambered together && her awestricken gaze was warmed with admiration now remained buried. Between her fingers the wooden stamp rolls, why keep something that cannot be? In serpentine tongues, voices murmurs, cursed to seek the endless horizons, cursed to be ripped from the daylight that bore the  love of the wise moon, bride of winter, bride of shadows, isn’t fate a horrific thing? Her mind is a torrent of restless seas, colliding && clashing. “Huh….?” foolishly, she plays ignorant to Naoya's remarks. The typical tactic when she was corned, when her cruelty was drawn out, when she could not hide from the scathing of his gaze. “They make me nostalgic” with an idle shrug of her shoulders, melancholy begins to fill her, listless she tugs upon the warmth of her robes holding them in place. Beautiful, he utters it feverishly when her skin is set ablaze, tenderness that rips the seams apart && stitches them together again.

             Love is agonizing, yearning that consumes the essence of her soul, she often regales the two star crossed lovers, tendrils of red held in hands akin to bouquet, waiting to be tossed. In another life, was she brave enough to discard the relic that has brought her agony? A name that bore no benevolence, an outlier who wept - if there was no blessing bestowed upon her, could he still love her? Beautiful, once more it rings within her mind, he would love her in full. “It’s rather difficult to constantly sum the energy up to hide such marks, expensive makeup does less, when I see each blemish - they remind me of failure” how could she be anything but meager? A Kobayashi was a blade, one that intervene when need be. Equalizing those who believed they were righteous && bringing forth balance, harmony, prideful smiles in their candlelit features declared. How could that be? When Sayuri was left behind && used for political gain, thrust into a land not of her own. She sets the seal down, “In fantasies, I think of that day where our union was made by the elders, in that instance, I should have swallowed my pride” reject everything, the God of Reverly’s gift, the name she was born to wear, the one gifted to her in hopes that generation worth of feuds could end.

            “You were surprised when I refused to wear the title Zen’in, everyone else was horrified” she laughs, merrily with her calloused grasp clasping together. Home was not across the streams where beautiful beings whispered pleasantries, it was not amongst the hydrangeas && chrysanthemums, it was in a den of wolves that flashed their teeth. Who knew she was neither a rabbit or celestial being, but the beloved of Death himself, a bride unlike any other, monstrous && cherished. “It remains a fixture that I cannot escape, even now I still use the seal like an entitled wife that refuses to part with the decadence of her social standing - it’s tragic, isn’t it?” in one quick movement, she tugs upon him, just like in girlhood when her frame shook && she could not utter, I’m scared.

                           @grievice:  (@grievice, from Amon) a kiss to your lover’s stomach as you travel down their body .

       Within the confines of her memory, she could recall another life, where slender hands grasped onto a silver dress && the entirety of her shoulders trembled. She spoke quiet, precise, mechanical even when describing details of certain ghouls, those that needed to be gone quickly in order to maintain the sanctity of the ward. The public would have found it amusing, betrayal was common amongst kin when their appetite became too much, all consuming that it threatened everything within its wake. Was that the purpose of Anteiku’s demise? She could not fathom it. Days spent with her head pounding constantly, gentle chides from the friendly staff; human liquor will destroy your stomach. Quaint paperback books, poetry, romantic novels that were spun sugar to be consumed && readily eaten. Expensive heels && white knee socks, chiffon skirts with a soft bounce, black shiny hair neatly cut - short, slicked back, sharp features that allured patrons while scaring them in one instance. She never terrified him for some reason, even when she wished it was possible, co-existing was an impossibility. Always virtuous, thinking nothing of the case even when her heart would lurch && she wanted to utter, life would be better spent in this blissful dream with me than anywhere else.

          Nothing was hers to own, selfish desires were a luxury, endless days she spent drifting pursuing tragedy for comedic sake, though blatant nihilism felt cowardice in her eyes. Investigator, it rolls from her tongue molten vanilla && caramel, teeth rotting sweet,  slow, Koutarou, she utters his name in sadness && tears swell. The void, abyssal && ravenous, the cavern in her chest where her heart beats, shouldn’t it be gone by now? It never occurred even when the skin was lacerated && pain radiated through her small form. He should be furious with her, angry, every vile word should be uttered - a coward, she’s always been too frightened of the world around her. Proud, arrogant, how could she display such a persona when the truth was far more meager? Instead, there are gentle touches that trace against her sides, her petite silhouette that contorts underneath his grasp.

          Diamonds embedded into skin, pink that sweeps across each cheek, he’s gentle - as if she might break. It’s difficult to admit she felt terror, in truth, she was nothing more than the typical fiend who cried softly; why is my existence to be shunned? Why must I be culled merely for living? Does that not make man a monster as well? Alice, it was safer to escape into Neverland where no one could find her. “This is dangerous…” she utters softly, laughter lines between each syllable that she utters, feather light && airy. Inky tendrils sprawl behind her, a curtain of black, her hue has lost the peach like flush, though it remains the same - brilliant gems for a gaze sharper than steel. Marshmallows && ginger, metal that lingers on the tongue drank in handfuls, like honey she could become drunk on, intoxication that came easily when her amusement ran high && affection overflowed. A home that was sparse in possessions, Alice never existed to begin with, she was nothing but a figment of the personification of what one yearned for. A lover no one had to love, the ethereal being in cherub divinity, the air for which she steals between lungs - she wasn’t real.

Blaze watched as he neatly assembled the papers into the correct files. Hearing him speak, she listened intently. She was glad that he was becoming more considerate of his colleagues though she was more glad that he being more true to himself. "I don't think I have." She replied she can't remember if she did or not. worlds to her blended in she would have to think back for the rare chances she had to celebrate Christmas, most worlds were never this 'peaceful'. But yet she was grateful for this peacefulness, for this change of pace despite the restricting nature of being an enforcer. She managed to find comfort in it despite it all, not to mention she found the greatest group of friends she could ever ask for. A group she would willingly follow to the ends of the earth for. But she let herself not get lost in her thoughts as she spoke up again.

         𝑭𝒍𝒖𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒆 𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆, in the shimmering lights she stands alone. A pale rabbit with a heartbeat that quickens, it shouldn’t exist, long plunged into an abyss of nothingness. Instead, it betrays her beating, frenzied as she once remembered fleeing, Alice slipping away into Wonderland, fast as her legs could carry her into the sleepy ward - so it used to be. She turns to him, throat raw && dry, “Amon…” how did he find her? A new location with an entirely different face, she still remains the Empress in her nocturnal den, selling an illusion of momentary love. Eyes that linger as the frail creature reaches to uncork the bottle within her grasp, the loud popping sound echoing within her ears, drowning out each breath. Indifferent, she smooths the fabric of her dress over, ice that encapsulates each pristine feature as she feigns indifference. “Oh, detective - it’s been long. You must have searched every club in Roppongi to find me or did someone disclose my location? Tch, hostesses gossip too much” she rolls her eyes, though a pang of sorrow drifts as she encourages him to join her.

                            “One last drink? Humor me before you vanish again” 

           𝑶𝒏 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒆, she wishes to call for him playfully in a childish tone. Instead, each sugar coated word is swallowed thickly within her maw. Frost, it encapsulates everything, even the glory of the old wisteria tree no longer could withstand the passage of time. Calloused, broken only to be reset thousands of times, her grasp reaches for the tip of his fingers - memories of childhood pouring in. When she once clutched to his hand in fear, cowering away amongst the shadows, she no longer felt cowardice. Each blossom has scattered, some bemoaning another hound has found way into their sanctum, while others are indifferent, cold, apathetic to the approaching shadows. The hearth crackles, illuminating her personal quarters, scarce && hardly lived in as she retracts, “Your presence is oddly silent this time around, practicing your stealth?” the haughty voice moves freely, lacking a bite.

                                        “Come sit, regale me with whatever matters are swarming your mind” 

         lips that need no introduction but now waiting for your call // if picture's worth a thousand words then your touch is worth them all

                        the howling wolf // the bone woman

kelly quindlen // I'm not calling you a liar - florence and the machine // mary on a cross - ghost // there is a light that never goes out - the smiths // romeo and juliet (1996) // kate elizabeth // dance, dance christa paffgen - anberlin

                                         @grievice  :   “Marry me.” // from Naoya !!

          𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒎𝒆, the first time she heard such words her small frame could have combust. Isn’t it dreamy? To be loved && adored deeply. When did it begin? The words that caused her stomach to curl as she would withdraw as time went on. Promises of a happy life, slowly they were fading away as she recalled the secret meetings, follie only children could utter. There was no ring to adorn her fingers, bound tight when the awakening of a slumbering moon wished to be amongst the living again, she would not fault him - what a terrifying woman she must be. No, uttered in a face that was not her own, too angular with blackened eyes or maybe, a conventional beauty with the cosmos adorning her gaze. She always chose what made her happy, hiding in plain sight, carving out each persona && reshaping them anew.

           Leave me be, the words were harshly uttered in a snarl, but a hound is loyal, she remembers. Again? Not this nonsense, the rest of the attendants will not look her in the eyes, trembling voices quivering as if they could break - ghastly woman, grotesque in her rotting beauty. Don’t let her sit by the candlelight && do not gather flowers for a bride of death itself, she could laugh, from the ashes they must have heard of the thunderous might that reveals itself. Word travels quickly in archaic lands, a fluttering song dancing happily on the winds, a merciful Goddess is born from the fires even if she wears the guise of mortality. Home, it calls to her beckoning a wayward daughter to return but her heart is torn asunder.

      The wound will heal but the flesh shall remain, it’s a clever way of sighing, another mark - was her visage not enough? Chiding from those she would have called in-laws. They’re shooed away instantly, terrified for the union that stands before them, never one to weep the tremble in her shoulders is evident - a flinch. Private quarters, away from the rest even if she enjoyed speaking to the younger sons, less abrasive, uncorrupted with their wide smiles && cooing; with her presence, thousands of lilies shall bloom. “Ranta-chan is the only one who keeps me company, the medics are even scared, what use are they? A mere boy shows his bravery compared to them” dagger like, her tongue juts out, she spares no mercy for those who impose upon her; they would know this from years bygone. Clever girl, wicked with a ruthlessly pursuit in obtaining whatever she desired, who could denounce a being of such magnitude? None.

        Now, she sits timidly drinking tea && listening to the waterfalls. In some semblance, this was home. The once towering presence of a great shadow has all but vanished; endless days with a trio of noble children, what are their fates? Obsession, desolation, vengeance. She greets him with the effigy that is tucked away, high cheekbones && small rabbit like nose. A pout shaped like a rosebud, cracked skin as if the stars themselves haphazardly stitched it together again. Where she could not fathom his attraction, the feverish desperation ekes out, marry me. Fated to howl from a distant moon, nocturnal features thick with a glossy sheen of tears contort. Arms that reach to be held, the crumbling of fabric from her robes, where is a sanctum she can rest? Against the towering trees of a forest, nestled between a den of wolves. He was never one for words of affirmation, physical touches that eased the restlessness of her soul.

      Bravado that entwined harmoniously together with one made of discipline to point it was self destruction. “You still dream of me as your bride…” and somewhere, she dreamt of it too. The monotonous life that could have been, thousands of flowers she remembered his words, a garden filled with happy children, both families united - it could never be that simple. Gently, she rests her head upon his chest, ivory that is cold to the touch, a brief glimpse of foulness mourning the shattered illusion. Gentle kisses, to sleep in the eternity of winter where the darkness grows thick, not even light could puncture.

         “I’ll drive you to ruination, wolfy. Though, I never did mind falling into an endless night if it was you by my side”