#ruinthorn

Honestly ive never even HEARD of this book but since This Blog i’m deathly curious

“yeah? or what?”

she is a teenager. she is in her rebellious phase. she does not know the word ‘rebellious’, nor is she sure of the exact meaning of ‘teenager’ (she certainly does not know the connotations it brings for everyone other than herself). but she does know, with absolute clarity, what she can do.

she grew a tangle of blackberries vines through about a dozen windows on monday. it happened in a matter of seconds. she thinks one of the chemists may have lost an eye. she has not seen them since they fled the building screaming with a wad of gauze and cotton clamped against their face.

on wednesday, she filled the corridor outside her room with stinging nettles. when they were removed, she screamed and cried and threw such a tantrum that she had to be physically restrained. one of the men in white coats started filling a syringe, but dr. woodrue said no, do not sedate her. she can watch. she needs to learn that her actions have consequences.

today is friday. very late on thursday night, she conjured up a thick patch of devil’s thorn in the doorway to her room. three of woodrue’s colleagues have been injured trying to remove it or make their way through. woodrue himself, however, somehow managed to miraculously walk through unscathed.

if she knew swearwords, she would be swearing at him now. she does not know swearwords. all she knows is jason woodrue and this facility and the green.

she sits on her bed with her knees drawn to her chest and her back against the wall. she does not look at her doctor. she stares angrily at the wall in front of her, wishes for it to crumble away so she can flee to the comfort of the flora outside, and then quickly focuses all her attention on the blanket at her feet so that very thing does not happen and get her into more trouble.

‘trouble’-- that’s a word she knows. that’s a word she knows very well.

        Despite the goddess’s smile, violent sea storms hide behind the windows of her eyes. ‘I will be there to feast from the scraps at my Mother’s table.’ Yes, that’s exactly what the all mother would prefer. Loyalty, dependence, and complacence all for mere scraps. 

“I would endure,” she murmurs. The only hint of any anger or displeasure is a waver in the fire sheltered within her bosom. “Death’s stings are akin to those of an insect to me, and I do not fear the Mother. Nor am I content with anything on her table. I am an extension of her and can claim all I wish.”

A musical chuckle escapes her parted lips. “Though I must say, her predatory nature imparts upon us valuable lessons. Are we not all merely a part of a cycle of growth and decay, triumph and defeat? She taught me how to fight, to destroy and triumph. 

Of all things in Creation, the things that Zauriel has among the weakest affinity with are plant-life. He admires it, of course, appreciates it like one should appreciate such a beautiful part of Creation- but his job has always been to watch over the people inside the Garden, rather than the Garden itself.

I mean if u dated plant girls they’d be okay ?

hey,

can i…..reblog this : )