flower of carnage.

[ 𝐀𝐒𝐊 ] 🟇 @vvasilisa​

Was not quiet moments cherished the most? When time had appeared to be standing still akin to a photograph or delicate painting, when strands of flaxen had mixed with strands of coal, feeling weight of little sister pressed against own shoulder. When only worry had been getting potential grass-stains on otherwise pristine, white blouse, only sound drawn breath and leaves fluttering in the calmest of breezes — WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU SAT LIKE THAT? In their informal classroom / meetingplace, which always had the potential to carry such beauty, wooden fence marking the barrier of where beauty stopped, rays of sun sifting through the network of birchleaves, illuminating the pages of her book on the days they were reading. Recall when sister dearest had made such progress, flying through page after page where she had otherwise stuttered, older one guiding through crafted words and combined sentences; Little one would remember merely that but not the lady. 

Ah, you taught sister dearest how to braid, how to fold her skirt inwards before sitting down to avoid crinkling; FOR SUCH WERE THE MANNERS OF A LADY, WERE THEY NOT? To look picture perfect in all her simplicity, elegance and grace weaved into even the most common clothing, making sure cheeks were always rosy and nose wiped clean. You are still upholding that elegance, passing it onto but one ( FOR WITH THE OTHERS YOU FAILED ) Why, were they sinners too? ( the ones lost, left behind, on the day HE thought he ate you, a lie you made him believe ) Not a hug, nothing warm, sentiment of a cloak wrapping around her body and pulling tightly, eyes not allowed to press shut, mouth gaping open, you don’t want to, you don’t want to, you don’t want to, WHAT WAS THE QUESTION she is speaking, sister’s lips are moving ( careful, careful, Frieda little, or you will scare her; SHE WILL LEAVE YOU LIKE THE REST ) WHAT WAS THE QUESTION?

CAUGHT OFF GUARD, causing eyebrow to quirk, a quick glance down — ‘ FRIEDA, HAVE YOU EVER BEEN IN LOVE? ’ WHEN? WHERE? You are in love with makeshift paradise, are you not, carefully crafted, designed, man-made, you hear the whisper, YOU LEARN TO LOVE IT, the lullaby he told to his people, the guilt cutting, carving, cleaving, features painted in shame and crimson. THE KING utters faux threat and history ( FOR IT WAS BETTER, BETTER, BETTER ), sings his people to sleep, AND YOU LEARN TO LOVE IT for the outcome matters nought if it was swapped with hate, his ghostly voice, akin to velvet poison in your ears, IT IS A COAT, a blanket, but it does nothing to keep you warm but merely pulls you up and tears apart ( does it hurt? ) YOU ARE NOT LOOKING AT HER, glittering eyes focusing on a non specific splinter at the edge of wooden table, suddenly acutely aware that one of the legs on her stool was shorter than the other AH, SO THAT IS WHERE YOU ARE WHAT WAS THE QUESTION? ( You want to glue it, don’t you? ) 

TELL ME, OLDEST / ONLY SISTER ( was it your incompetence that killed the rest? ), WHAT DO YOU EVEN LOVE ( that from that day, when sisters and brothers became one with the ground, you learnt to let go? ) Or is it the sentiment of looking over the masses, sneaky as you are, ah yes; You love seeing them, standing there, those little roaches baking in the mid-day sun, godless creatures begging for resolve, you love to see some heads bent and others on a stick, you love to nod and whisper his name, until you shake your head and scream hers ( IT IS WHAT GOT THEM KILLED, YOU KNOW, YOUR INABILITY TO MAKE A CHOICE. ) YOU LOVE THE HATRED FOR YOUR PEOPLE, for those who are wrapped in sin and chaos, you love the guilt tied around your neck weighing down, down, down, down — YOU / HE / THEY knew this would happen, from the moment father held his oldest in pudgy arms for the first time, to the day serum was injected through coarse needle and sickly uncle snapped in half under the pressure of enormous mandible. WHAT WAS THE QUESTION?  He loves you for this / He hates us for this. 

FRIEDA, HAVE YOU EVER BEEN IN LOVE?

Delicate smile, hand brushing against sister’s hair — WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU SAT NEXT TO HER, like those days, when you were tucked behind that bale of hay, feeling weight of little sister pressed against own shoulder ( WHEN DID / WILL SHE STOP HATING ME? ) 

╮ ╰.   𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐤 𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐭 / 𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐡; she takes a sharp turn to the left / past the barricade, a nod given to a pair of patrolling soldiers. Wretched dusk is setting, coats rows of tents in wraith-like black & blue.  ━ last battles weight on one’s hammering heart / soreness, stiff joints; feeling as if her body is too light & too heavy, both. You are out of your armor / merely draped in crimson apparel; naturally, you require time to re-adjust: to silence of movement / less strain on shoulders & psyche / the biting gust against scarred skin, its cut thoroughly felt. ━  aye, feeling oddly feather-light, for once in days. 

          another quick turn / fleeing from ever-encroaching darkness, perhaps, [read: forward unto dawn] with fierce determination & austere mien / nevermind exhaustion’s skulking presence / duty ever on her mind. ━  not tonight; she would not dare waste what little leisure they had with strategic formulae & tactical appraisal.  

          a smile [wry, mayhaps, still genuine] brightens one’s features upon arriving at mutually agreed destination  ━ feeling feather-light yet again / a flutter in her chest; lack of armor to blame, surely.  “ Truth be told, I half expected you would leave me waiting, Commander. “

Eyes open under water ( second birth, you breathe again ) SHE HAD FALLEN to the tune of dragon’s wings and crumbling towers, block after block of hefty stone turning into makeshift mausoleum, goddess’ voice marking both lullaby and new beginning, a voice far too juvenile to fit the matureness in uttered words. In her sleep, warm tune had painted pictures of both fragmented past and what could have been but wasn’t, depicted with rough brushstrokes of death and agony, these battles which never happened, battles which never would. 

IT HAD BEEN FIVE YEARS, she was told, five years after the burial put her to deep slumber but not to final rest. Five years of listening, watching, dreaming, waking up to a world ever different from the one she left behind, in the middle of a revolution which beginning she had just barely caught. It was quite the readjustment, orienting through new sceneriers — However, feet this time acted as if having a life of their own, steering past patrolling soldiers and barricades, coming to a halt at a stone fence. 

One barely had the time to lean against the cold surface before hearing a familiar voice,  expecting her presence; WHY? I was just out taking a walk, was I not ( no, you wanted to see her, remember? ) Ah.. Yes. 

Sleepless nights seemed to have become more frequent ever since the two latest additions to Garreg Mach — THE CHILD, alive ( I KNEW IT! ) with a face set in stone, walking side by side with the epitome of a walking dead, a ghost of the past ( JERALT OLD... FRIEND ) ; Oh, what did HIS presence evoke? Something, a burning sentiment, crawling, spinning, biting its way through humanoid flesh and bones, desiring nothing but to tear HIS apart. But ah, at the same time, A CELEBRATION, expected return ( how many knights had you not sent out to slay he who torched his house with hellfire, soldier after soldier tasked to bring back the child HE was never supposed to raise? ) Plan again in motion ( dearest, it never stopped ), her vessel back and more beauteous than ever, oh, how one desired to reach out, cup mother’s cheek, whisper that it would all be alright, present the world she had created for fallen brethren, and — … ! Oh, how ideas were many, increasing in tenfold which each passing second, nights surely not meant for sleeping, oh no.  

Archbishop had occasionally been seen wandering the towers at night, sometimes even the schoolyard, passed the dormitoriers, noticing a student or two cry when plagued by nightmares. Nights were otherwise peaceful, and nights were cool, if ever spotted, she would simply state she heard the goddess through the breezy winds. On this night in particular, it however seemed that she had not been spotted, but rather had spotted someone else, noticing a shadow contrasting against the grass. A student perhaps on their way back from the library, having been up studying late? From the distance, she was unsure of exactly WHO it was, but the uniform confirmed her suspicion about it being a student. Own identity not as simple to mistake for someone else — Usual blue and gold cape had been left behind, but the archbishop still donned a somewhat simpler version of her characteristic white dress, hemline covering up a pair of rather unflattering slippers. Crown had been left behind too, as it always was during her midnight wanderings, hair hanging loosely down her back.

“Having trouble sleeping too?” Statement simple and made from a distance, surely loud enough to make her presence known before coming even closer — AH, now she could see who it was. “Hubert Von Vestra. A pleasure.” Lips stretched into that characteristic smile, head dipping ever so slightly in a greeting nod. It was rare for the archbishop to interact with the students, both in formal or informal settings such as this one, it was however something she desired to do more often — After all, it was her business to know. “I have yet to hear from lady Edelgard how our new professor is faring in your class. I am certain there is nothing to worry about, but nevertheless, I prefer to hear from people on the ground, as I am sure you understand. Perhaps I will have more luck with her second in command.” Ever benevolent smile widened, hand gesturing in a forward motion.

CAUTION, word detested, word since long left behind, a useless, useless time consuming concept, BATTLE INSTEAD VIEWED IN THE BLINK OF AN EYE, split second to notice, split second to react ( no time for caution, no time, no... time ), pushing oneself further, further, further, suppressing growing fatigue and ever looming tremble in scarred limbs. Consumed by combat, battlefield covered in warpaint, whatever remained of life before a fading memory — Exams, seminars, various quests for better certifications, all exchanged for screaming promise of a better world ( recollections hung akin to a noose around her neck, tugging painfully whenever a familiar face would loom on the OTHER SIDE of the battlefield. ) Loyalty pledged to a better cause, and  the one woman with the ability to achieve it, now standing side by side with the BLACK EAGLES, determined to fight for OWN / THEIR / HER cause, eager to prove herself, eager to contribute to the change. 

NO TIME FOR ANYTHING ELSE no time for wretched caution ; And thus vision oft grew narrow when positioned at the back of the battlefield ( you are a mage, after all ), occasionally switching for a position on the front when determining oneself to be more useful there — One of their assassins was getting overwhelmed by the church’s forces, and with battle drawing close to an end ( fatigue already a factor in both herself and fellow comrades ), she had nothing to lose but what was already lost; WAS IT NOT FOR THE BETTER, if the one clinging onto borrowed time would go down first, instead of those with a chance for brighter future, family, children…? Ah, how she soared ( my legs grow tired ) PUT YOURSELF TO USE ( I want to sleep ) there is an arrow approaching Petra, arms rising, spell on own lips, PROTECT HER ( you can do this! Ignore the blade behind you! ) drawn inhale, exhale — … 

Two hands on her side, firm push ( crack on her ribs upon impact ) lithe body hitting ground below, corner of her eye catching familiar glow from relic ax ( and an arrow ? ); AH, THE EMPEROR HERSELF had intervened, cutting off striking blow surely meant to hit the mage or assassin ( IS SHE ANGRY, she looks angry ), ears picking up the large thud from enemy’s cleaved body making impact with the dirt — Without interference that could have been you ( NO. TIME. FOR. CAUTION! ) Laboriously, the mage propped herself onto an elbow, ignoring own body practically screaming at her to stay down, eyes blinking up at the other. Brows furrowed, teeth grinding together, she could have deflected that blow!