i'm tired of the weight of mortality, i want to tear it from my veins
until i bleed silver and gold
Thank gods for Lily, able to help her navigate through the sudden influx of so many people. There’s so much to do, so much to get a grasp of, to ensure the safety of those within the Temple – but there’s something that triumphs over it all. Bastien. She won’t rest, won’t stop even if it means running into people until she can find him. It’s made infinitely harder by the fact that without her eyes, she can’t see where she’s going. But Deimos had made her a bandana, to hide the darkness, though streams of black seem to have stained her cheeks, like some sort of garish mascara that has traveled along her skin.
She looks like hell, clothes a mess, pale raised scarring under her brand by about five inches, right to the right of her sternum. And if you followed it through completely, you’d find a similar starburst pattern on her back – an entry and an exit. And she knows that it’ll scare him, the way she leans on others, to have to be dependent when she had gone for so long trying to be the pillar, the stone of strength. But she needs to see him, she needs to see him now.
Guidance has brought her to where she could meet with Bastien, and she stands in the doorway, a pillar of darkness and broken pieces, broken wrists that hang from arms at her sides. “Bastien?” She utters into the pitch black, lip quivering in her sudden fear of frightening him. She can remember the look on his face when she had returned from the blighted pumpkin, when her fluid had covered every inch of her. But she had been healed then, only weak.
Then the look on his face when she had returned from the Mathair, healed and new but so damn exhausted.
She’s suddenly so thankful she can’t see at all.
She looks like hell, clothes a mess, pale raised scarring under her brand by about five inches, right to the right of her sternum. And if you followed it through completely, you’d find a similar starburst pattern on her back – an entry and an exit. And she knows that it’ll scare him, the way she leans on others, to have to be dependent when she had gone for so long trying to be the pillar, the stone of strength. But she needs to see him, she needs to see him now.
Guidance has brought her to where she could meet with Bastien, and she stands in the doorway, a pillar of darkness and broken pieces, broken wrists that hang from arms at her sides. “Bastien?” She utters into the pitch black, lip quivering in her sudden fear of frightening him. She can remember the look on his face when she had returned from the blighted pumpkin, when her fluid had covered every inch of her. But she had been healed then, only weak.
Then the look on his face when she had returned from the Mathair, healed and new but so damn exhausted.
She’s suddenly so thankful she can’t see at all.
maybe one day they'll chant our names
and name galaxies after us, and we too shall be eternal
REXANNA
