❝    𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐬 𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦.    𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞.    ❞      she stokes the hearth.    turning over the eviscerate bloodbeat of embers erratically paling      &.      deepening like the frantic respiration of a wounded beast trembling in its den      &.      the profound desperation of its shallowing breath.      the chord once taut cut red.      eyes pulsing in dull glass bells.      outside fields lie black where companies of lesser auxiliaries trudged in snow circled      &.      wheeled a myriad phantoms in the cold moonlight      &.      the pale smoke of their breath clove through the implacable dark with wintry blades of white as she traipses the room in the warm sawing light of the fire,    strides across the sprawling urne tapestry with such haste that would leave the hanging plants swaying from their hewn beams in her passing.      ❝    i take the sentiment is not unfamiliar to you.      the gods of these realms are no kinder.      ❞

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ROMANCE.       love poems. flickering candles. conversations in the meadow. roses. midnight meetings. silk dresses. long phone calls. spilling your heart out. curtains blowing in the breeze. cheap paperbacks. the sun’s reflection on the water. smooth jazz. waiting for something to happen. blushing cheeks. kisses in the rain. faded polaroids. noses bumping. floral perfume. a restless spirit. oil paintings on canvas. hiding under an awning during a thunderstorm. candlelit dinners. horse drawn carriages. sunset views. smeared lipstick.

ACTION.       streetlights reflected on rainy pavements. a phone alarm. rapid texting. the smell of smoke. aggression. the natural instinct to fight. dramatic reunions. distant gunfire. funerals in the rain. the coppery scent of blood. solitude. fierce protective instincts. doomed to fail. driving too fast. near death experiences. inner turmoil. running through crowds. expensive watches. tired eyes. overnight plane rides. cold cups of coffee. dangerous secrets. lying through your teeth. bullet holes.

HORROR.       a distant farmhouse. congealed blood on the hardwood. ice picks. tilted headstones. bare feet on the carpet. splintering wood. masks that hide who you really are underneath. quiet summer camps. ghost stories. locked rooms. sharp knives. a full moon. the scent of rust. grasping hands searching for something to hold. last minute decisions. bags under your eyes. a cross hung on the wall. crawling maggots. the carcass of a dead animal. an abandoned hotel. blood-soaked clothes. broken bones. the sound of glass shattering.

ADVENTURE.      gnarled rope between your fingers as you hold on for dear life. glittering gold in a dark room. snakes. an incoming sandstorm. the consequences of your actions. hidden secrets. an unopened door. a leap of faith. squeezing your best friend’s hand. shelves of dusty books. ancient curses. the smell of fire. crumbling buildings. complicated puzzles. mystery novels. footsteps echoing in a large room. smudged lenses on glasses. warm skin. doing what’s right. dirt under your fingernails. scribbled notes. cobwebs blocking your path.

COMEDY.       friends you’ve known for years. crowded comedy clubs. crescent moons. open mics. out of tune pianos. a messy desk. leather messenger bags. stacks of papers. huge sweaters. bitten nails. ordering takeout every night. dog-eared pages. unmade beds. hand movements and broad gestures. the smell of the subway. colorful graffiti on brick buildings. big dreams. enthusiastic phone calls. rejection letters. the heat of stage lights. pulling pranks. restless sleep. cold showers. laughing until you’re crying. half-finished ideas. tiny apartments. velvet curtains. cheap alcohol.

@valsyr​ .

“ oh,   um,   hey;  freya. “

he hesitates for a moment,    digits playing with the collar of his jacket where his   necklace   once hung.    he’s glad she’s here,   glad she’s finally back to being their ally.   but he remembers the night he tracked her down,   and recalls the pain and betrayal in her voice as they spoke.   but he sucks in a deep breath  :    he needs her to know this.   “ …   i,  um,   it’s good to see you again.   it’s just   …   i meant what i said before.   y’ know,   back in midgar?    i’m    —    i’m sorry.    about your son. “  he continues to fidget and chances a glance in her direction,  sucking in one more breath for good measure.   

“ i think   …    i’m starting to understand it more.     like,   what a parent feels for their child.   father was telling me about it and,  well   … “    a grimace.    he vividly remembers the way in which he swore he’d die for him ten times over if it ensured his safety.  and the pang of guilt he felt,   for never truly understanding his father’s love for him.   “ i just;   i’m sorry.   no one should have to go through losing their son.   but that’s why odin has to pay!   because he’ll just do it again and again to other families. “

          𝐋𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐖 painting murky vignettes of the room on the polished floors.      the silhouette of her figure as she hangs primrose      &.      bedstraw to dry along an array of other handpicked herbs,     the tombed plants metamorphosed into dyscrasic geometric shapes stark black on marble      &.      atreus’ shadow cleaved in two by the shadow of the table between them .       his voice sounds meek when he calls her.        he looks tucked at the alcove’s threshold or she imagines it in the way he stumbles aimlessly through the comb of his words       &.       absconds glances in her direction like her gaze might turn him to stone.      ❝    you were never to blame,     atreus.    ❞