#hearthwarm

@hearthwarm​​ sent:    i stayed as long as i could.    now look at the moon.

friend,     not fetter:      she reminds herself of this as she lifts her gaze to the celestial  cyclops  unblinking in the sky,    that which he coaxed her to regard.      a comforting ubiquity,    only a shade of the sun’s  blinding stranglehold.        ❛❛      i don’t suppose you’ll be taking this time to wax poetic?    something about how i can look up at the evening sky and be reminded of your  brilliance?      ❜❜        humor’s transference by osmosis,    by the fond leakage of  proximity    —    she has grown far too used to him,    such that the vulpine claws of  avarice  have made trenches out of ivory stone.      a boreal sigh.     there have always been creatures that fancy themselves  seasonal,     thralled by the unrelenting vastness of the world.        (      i cannot claim to know your  reasons,    can only endeavor to  understand.      )    

they stand by the doorway,    halfway to egress    —    halfway to  cleavage,    in hollow   /   hallowed silence.        ❛❛      𝒊 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒂𝒔𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒚.      ❜❜        at last,    the congelation of an  exit wound.      the twilight of truth:    not all farewells are  amaranths,    but common florets.        (      doomed to winter wither,    to welcome the spring of salutation.      )        clutched within hiemal hand,    icy filaments weave into  crystalline  cravat    —    a parting gift,      proof that you were here.      she steps close,    tying fabric around the column of his neck,    smoothed with a smile.

@hearthwarm​ : “The Universe is too big for that.” late nights

@hearthwarm​ sent:    i can’t abide a poor liar.    /    accepting.

❛❛      that means,    then,    that i must endeavor to be either an exceptional liar,    or not at all.      ❜❜        elsa bestows him a simper aslant paired with an arched brow,    all elfin affectations before the hallway reclaims her gaze,    its tastefully filigreed walls too arresting to be ignored.        [    she,   too,   is a mage:    a maven at sleight of hand    —    or perhaps of head.    the flittering turn of crown obscures the tenderfoot tucked into the corners of her smile,    fledgling fawn determined to walk.    ]        before he can riposte with anything deleterious to the small - scale sorcery she’s spun    —    another prosaic nudge,    or god forbid,    a probing sort of silence,    the kind that encourages the crescendo of their footsteps against marbled floor    —    she tries for comfort,    quiet pacification.

turnip-head was waiting for them by a rock, looking like the scarecrow could sit on it. and as jokanaan neared he gave two bright bounces then began to bounce off in the direction of the castle. he always seemed to know where the castle was at any given time. if it moved a hundred miles the scarecrow would still know the precise location and follow it. the undying warrior followed it up the sloping farmlands of ingary. farmers and wives waved at them as they passed their fields.

as they neared the castle markl ran out the front door ( or back? jokanaan still never figured out which way was what ) of the castle to great them. to him, jokanaan was like giant, standing a few feet taller with strong arms and thick thighs wearing howl’s pants that would rip apart at the seams any minute now. howl had encouraged them to wear something — anything other than their suit of armour. he wanted to see their face. even markl agreed and said it felt like talking to a real person and not a suit of armour. jokanaan acquiesced it without an argument, but it did seem like they were destroying more of the wizard’s clothes than he could keep bringing in. they would have to go back to the armour soon enough. maybe no helmet?

nevertheless, the undead banishes the thought and follows the youngest wizard into the castle while turnip-head made a new home on a rock a few feet away. they dropped the burlap sack on the dining table — or what should’ve been a dining table. it was stacked to the ceiling with old tomes and scrolls and knick-knacks that everyone had forgotten about.

❝ pig’s shoulder! ❞ said markl, heaving the giant piece of meat out of the bag and holding it to the sky like a trophy. calcifer snorted with a puff of smoke.

❝ the wizard? ❞ rasped the warrior. even as a human, their voice was hollow. They couldn’t remember if their voice was always like this.

❝ didn’t see which door he left through, ❞ said calcifer, reaching for the thickest log in the pile. ❝ but he said he was going shopping. ––––– shopping! ❞

jokanaan wrinkled their nose at that. the castle was already so full. what could howl possibly be buying? they dusted off the closest bench and sat across from markl, still holding the pig’s shoulder and rummaging through various books left on the table looking for something. howl would be back soon enough. they’d only become human again recently and they meant to thank the wizard for the souls.

@hearthwarm​​​  sent:      ❛    i’ve heard that sound before.    ❜      /      five senses,    accepting.

there are ghosts in the palace of arendelle.      innumerable,    tucked into nooks and crannies,      rooms and portraits and history books.      but most of all,     they cling to people,      choosing to fasten their stride to the periphery of shadows in constant locomotion.      they are equally wont to walk half - lit hallways and the landscape of dreams,      straddling the liminal spaces between sleep and wakefulness.      there are ghosts in the palace of arendelle,      and it seems,    to elsa,     that howl has made acquaintance with one of hers.      the wizard’s curious declaration is punctuated by a low hum,      a passable invocation of an all - too - familiar melody.

she supposes it’s quite fortunate that he decides to indulge his inquisitiveness in the main sitting room,      where a large fortepiano stands nigh - forgotten by the leftmost corner,      marigold light suffusing from the windows beside.      elsa approaches it,      palm running absently across polished mahogany veneer,      lost in disjointed impressions of memory.      mama,    she hears herself saying,      young and blissful once upon a time,      will you teach me to play this?      when she exhales the past,      elsa welcomes the spectre of her mother poised gracefully on the piano bench with a heavy - light heart,      where before it would only call forth a torpefying pain in the hollow beneath her ribs,     where her heart should be.      when she turns to regard him once more,      it is with a bittersweet half - smile.

         YOU  HAVE  WROTE  YOURSELF  A  MYTH  AND  NOW  YOU  LIVE  IN  IT  .  the  great  wizard  /  he  who  crosses  worlds  !   but  we  of  flesh  and  blood  cannot  be  confined  to  words  .  we  take  flight  ,  we  leave  the  page  behind  and  take  all  evidence  of  thought  with  us  (  i  am  composed  of  bone  and  enchantment  /  dark  plumes  and  magic  )  he  and  i  are  of  a  similar  make  ,  ridden  with  our  own  monstrosities  .  i  am  charmed  by  his  oddity  as  i  believe  he  is  with  mine  .  THERE  IS  SOMETHING  ABSENT  HERE  /  SOMETHING  EXTINGUISHED  (  will  we  fill  each  others  spaces  or  widen  that  expanse  of  nothingness  ?  )  i  am  hopeful  and  i  am  fatally  reckless  ━  this  is  volatile  yet  i  have  no  more  to  lose  than  i  already  have  . 

          ❛  i  was  so  much  more  ...  ❜  i  muse  in  a  feigned  breath  :  an  act  that  is  as  much  of  a  comfort  as  it  is  a  fallacy  .  my  feet  do  not  sweep  the  floor  .  i  flitter  ,  smoldering  and  cold  ,  an  adonis  blue  butterfly  .  ALWAYS  A  CREATURE  WITH  WINGS  !  FRAGILE  BUT  OCCASIONALLY  CLAW-FOOTED  .  it  is  only  one  of  my  many  ambivalences  :  i  am  a  mess  of  them  ,  a  fractured  image  of  contradictions  .  alive  and  utterly  dead  /  this  is  liminality  instead  of  a  state  of  being  .  ❛  i  was  brilliant  once  ...  alive  and  magnetic  just  like  you  ,  or  perhaps  more  so  .  ❜