black hearts, the wicked never rest. i curse the day i let you in
so tell me dear,
Maybe she’s not meant to be.
Maybe she shouldn’t have gotten hope up where hope should have never been. Maybe she should have never stopped that day, when he had been hunting, when she had unleashed who she was to him, to find out he’s the same. Maybe she shouldn’t have gone out that day in the snow, to find Ru’in, to find what could have been after she’d already come to terms with it.
Maybe she shouldn’t have done anything at all, withered away like a flame suffocated with no air.
Maybe they’d all be better that way.
He tells her she’s never been useless, and she wants to argue. Wants to tell him that she is and always has been. She didn’t find her brother despite her attempts. Thranduil had. She hadn’t helped Helovia in its prospects by aligning with the dark god of chaos, when he had destroyed the world in the end. She hadn’t helped the god when he fell into the river bringing back those from the dead only to be slain again, when the god returned and cursed her for it. She hadn’t helped when Khairi had been ripped from her soul, replaced by the Luxere who’s horns glowed a brilliant golden light.
She hadn’t helped when she went with Amalia and Jigano to the Greatwood and been captured. She hadn’t helped when Amalia had conceded to her rather than fight her, because she couldn’t win. She hadn’t helped when she’d been blighted and attacked all of those that cared about her, spitting barbs and darts where hearts and love should align. She hadn’t helped when she’d come back better and okay, being useless in their attempt at the Library, to follow Deimos and remain when he left.
The tears slip from her eyes, drifting down dirty cheeks as she closes her eyes in her pain. A bargain, a deal. A deal made with the devil. She feels sick as she thinks about it, stomach churning and burning beneath the layers of too many, too much of everything. And she steps away from Deimos as Zuriel’s head is there, bumping into her arm, as she sheds the armor over her head, the underarmor, left in a sleeveless shirt covered in gore and grime, bruises and blood and cuts adorning the rest of her scars to help Zuriel heal her, to see what needs to be healed, as she refuses to look at him.
“It wants Ascended upgrades.” It’s a quiet admission, even one she knows she cannot do. There’s nowhere to start, nowhere to look. Only her mother, but… Even Kiada knows how few the Ascended are, how disliked among them. They will not be willing to part with the pieces so easy. “As much as I think his soul is worth. And there’s no amount Deimos, no amount of things that could ever be close to the same as how much he means to me.” She loves him more than life itself. How could she equate it with tangible items?
Maybe she shouldn’t have gotten hope up where hope should have never been. Maybe she should have never stopped that day, when he had been hunting, when she had unleashed who she was to him, to find out he’s the same. Maybe she shouldn’t have gone out that day in the snow, to find Ru’in, to find what could have been after she’d already come to terms with it.
Maybe she shouldn’t have done anything at all, withered away like a flame suffocated with no air.
Maybe they’d all be better that way.
He tells her she’s never been useless, and she wants to argue. Wants to tell him that she is and always has been. She didn’t find her brother despite her attempts. Thranduil had. She hadn’t helped Helovia in its prospects by aligning with the dark god of chaos, when he had destroyed the world in the end. She hadn’t helped the god when he fell into the river bringing back those from the dead only to be slain again, when the god returned and cursed her for it. She hadn’t helped when Khairi had been ripped from her soul, replaced by the Luxere who’s horns glowed a brilliant golden light.
She hadn’t helped when she went with Amalia and Jigano to the Greatwood and been captured. She hadn’t helped when Amalia had conceded to her rather than fight her, because she couldn’t win. She hadn’t helped when she’d been blighted and attacked all of those that cared about her, spitting barbs and darts where hearts and love should align. She hadn’t helped when she’d come back better and okay, being useless in their attempt at the Library, to follow Deimos and remain when he left.
The tears slip from her eyes, drifting down dirty cheeks as she closes her eyes in her pain. A bargain, a deal. A deal made with the devil. She feels sick as she thinks about it, stomach churning and burning beneath the layers of too many, too much of everything. And she steps away from Deimos as Zuriel’s head is there, bumping into her arm, as she sheds the armor over her head, the underarmor, left in a sleeveless shirt covered in gore and grime, bruises and blood and cuts adorning the rest of her scars to help Zuriel heal her, to see what needs to be healed, as she refuses to look at him.
“It wants Ascended upgrades.” It’s a quiet admission, even one she knows she cannot do. There’s nowhere to start, nowhere to look. Only her mother, but… Even Kiada knows how few the Ascended are, how disliked among them. They will not be willing to part with the pieces so easy. “As much as I think his soul is worth. And there’s no amount Deimos, no amount of things that could ever be close to the same as how much he means to me.” She loves him more than life itself. How could she equate it with tangible items?
can your heart still break?
if it's already stopped breathing?
KIADA
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Kiada, without killing her <3
