my held breath fills the room with blood
hurting in ways I can't describe
If time were not already meaningless in the dark of the sunless days, it has lost all measure and rhyme now. She doesn't know how long she kneels there on the floor, some macabre portrait of benediction to Gods that have yet again dragged her and her family into their infernal war. She had known, since that snowlit day with Morgan, that The Voice had called to a memory in her, reminder her of Kaos and the insidiousness he'd used to bring about the downfall of her native pantheon. She has known for some time now that war was on the horizon.
She had prayed the bloodletting would spare her family this time. And yet her sister has been struck from the tree of life with naught but a twisted creation from a prejudiced Goddess. Already she has been further robbed of her family, hollowing out the few coveted notions she hides away inside her breast. There is no pain, no physical agony, that can compare to this abrupt loss. There is only her tears, the burn of wood against her shins, her arms that wrap around herself to try and hold the seams closed as she moans piteously into her knees. When she finds the courage to stand, the strength to rise does not join it. Rexanna would berate her for not continuing on, she knows that. But she could no sooner totter to unsteady feet than exact retribution from the Goddess that has done this.
Atlas is there at her side, helping to lift her body and burdens alike as his name has heralded. She clings to the proud arc of his neck, and lets him lead her into the darkness of the Temple where she remains for a few hours. Trying to digest what cannot be stomached, to grasp a loss too big for her mortal mind. And then, when she has swallowed down as much grief as she can, she stands and begins to search the shadowed halls for one of the only souls who can ever understand.
Hotaru finds him outside a door that she does not want to venture beyond. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. Atlas' concussive hoofbeats announce her presence, and she silently moves to him, arms reaching and eyes drawn and red as she seeks to hold on and find some sort of buoyancy together to make it through this storm. "Deimos," her voice breaks, cutting the silence with the shudder of her voice, small and broken in her suffering. Like his name is benediction itself, a balm to heal her hurts. Nothing else follows, for nothing can be said. Not yet. Not until they have shared their meager strength with one another, as they have in years past when loved ones were lost. Leaving only, always, them. But at least they are alone together, two mountains braced against the falling of the sky.
She had prayed the bloodletting would spare her family this time. And yet her sister has been struck from the tree of life with naught but a twisted creation from a prejudiced Goddess. Already she has been further robbed of her family, hollowing out the few coveted notions she hides away inside her breast. There is no pain, no physical agony, that can compare to this abrupt loss. There is only her tears, the burn of wood against her shins, her arms that wrap around herself to try and hold the seams closed as she moans piteously into her knees. When she finds the courage to stand, the strength to rise does not join it. Rexanna would berate her for not continuing on, she knows that. But she could no sooner totter to unsteady feet than exact retribution from the Goddess that has done this.
Atlas is there at her side, helping to lift her body and burdens alike as his name has heralded. She clings to the proud arc of his neck, and lets him lead her into the darkness of the Temple where she remains for a few hours. Trying to digest what cannot be stomached, to grasp a loss too big for her mortal mind. And then, when she has swallowed down as much grief as she can, she stands and begins to search the shadowed halls for one of the only souls who can ever understand.
Hotaru finds him outside a door that she does not want to venture beyond. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. Atlas' concussive hoofbeats announce her presence, and she silently moves to him, arms reaching and eyes drawn and red as she seeks to hold on and find some sort of buoyancy together to make it through this storm. "Deimos," her voice breaks, cutting the silence with the shudder of her voice, small and broken in her suffering. Like his name is benediction itself, a balm to heal her hurts. Nothing else follows, for nothing can be said. Not yet. Not until they have shared their meager strength with one another, as they have in years past when loved ones were lost. Leaving only, always, them. But at least they are alone together, two mountains braced against the falling of the sky.
my heart bends and breaks
so many, many times
HOTARU
