* 𝙖 𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 .

we      were       𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍𝒔      once   ,      don't      you      𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫   ?

[luemiere]

private  ,    low activity writing blog for an    𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋    𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑    ❝ jeanne-louise de la’rouse ❞     based on   𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇    𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘    &    𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐊𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄 .    all npc’s  ,    writing  ,    headcanons  ,    and worldbuilding are created entirely by me  ,    with influence from mythology   &    literature  .    𝑪𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑬𝑫     𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟔  ,    𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑼𝑹𝑹𝑬𝑪𝑻𝑬𝑫     𝑺𝑬𝑷𝑻𝑬𝑴𝑩𝑬𝑹     𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟗  .    by echo    (  he  /  they  ,    22 )    also found at saintsdeath

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[luemiere]

so, dynamics call-

[luemiere]

hi im back on my stupid shit and nobody is surprised

[blushingenue]

Barbara Bouchet in AMUCK (1972).

[luemiere]

𝑦𝑜𝑢    ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒    𝑏𝑒𝑤𝑖𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑑    𝑚𝑒 .  .  .     

true agony  ,    true grief  ,    is to be left upon this earth when another is gone    /     i thought we had more time     /    and i’m afraid that i’ll miss you forever    /     do not stand by my grave and weep

[luemiere]

*      𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈  ,

𝙲𝙾𝚁𝚁𝙴𝚂𝙿𝙾𝙽𝙳𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙼:    DE LA ROUSE, JEANNE-LOUISE.    ——    @luemiere​    ▼    ❛❛      hozier    —    arsonist’s lullabye.      ❜❜    𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚃𝚄𝚂:    ANSWERED.

❛❛            i   knew   love’s   perfect   ache.            ❜❜

  ❝    and    you    lost    her  ?    ❞                        it is spoken softly  ,    with care  ----     with remorse                       (    we have all watched love die    /     the damnable curse of what we are    )                       to walk this earth with bleeding hearts  ,    and to know that death moves on without us  ----     that life carries on  ,    and we are stuck just beyond it  .    observers  ,    bystanders  ,    curious     &    weeping

  ❝    tell me about her  ,    if you would like to    ❞                       i understand if it hurts  ,     i understand that old memories are sometimes best left buried deep    /    i understand that sometimes the only way to keep them alive is to hold their name under your tongue    &    cry

[luemiere]

she  ,    maiden    of    roses                  it is by divine hand that you have found yourself before her    /    fate’s ever present pull that has tied you together                      (    there is a red string woven around my heart  ,    and it has reached out to capture you too    )                      there is no series of events that would not lead you to her  ,    SHE IS THE LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL  ,    𝑡ℎ𝑒    𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑡𝑒 - 𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑    𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑑𝑒    𝑎𝑡    𝑡ℎ𝑒    𝑒𝑛𝑑    𝑜𝑓    𝑡ℎ𝑒    𝑖𝑠𝑙𝑒  ,    the arms that welcome you home at the end of every day  .    and what are you to her  ?                      (    everything  ,    everything  ,    everything    )                      you are the quiet joy that has overtaken her heart  ,    the reason she rises with the sun  ,    the memory of love that has blossomed once more    /    a wilted rose  ,   resurrected by your mere presence alone  .    she rolls over  ,    her eyes are luminous in the dim light ----    she knows that you are awake beside her  ,    that you too cannot sleep                      ❝  erik  ❞                       their fingers woven together  ,    with such tender curiosity                      ❝  will you come with me  ?    i’d like to show you something  ❞  

@lemasque​

[luemiere]

*    ​ 𝒅𝒂𝒂𝒆  ,

❝  you  are  hungry  .  ❞    the  mattress  shifts  under  their  combined  weight  ,  the  singer  at  her  side  in  an  instant  :  she  knows  ,  she  knows  ,  and  she  can  provide  .  this  she  can  do  ,  this  small  thing  —  one  she  does  not  mind  .  

jean’s  eyes  are  sunken  ,  just  so  .  not  enough  to  betray  her  lovely  mien  ,  not  enough  to  change  her  beauty  in  any  way  —  but  enough  to  cause  concern  .  christine’s  heart  flutters  in  her  chest  .  her  ribs  cage  the  bird  in  flight  .

❝  take  what  you  need  from  me  ,  yes  ?   ❞    a  reassuring  smile  ,  time  and  time  again  convinced  that  she  will  be  coaxed  to  wake  from  this  exquisite  dream  .  it  has  been  long  since  christine  had  touched  a  book  about  the  creatures  of  the  night  .  she  no  longer  needed  to  .  silken  gown  is  moved  aside  ,  free  of  her  neck  and  wrists  .

❝  you  could  never  hurt  me  ,  you  know  .  ❞

a    midnight    flower    fully    in    bloom  ,                      the moon in view  ----    caught in pools of silvery blue light                       (    she  ,    born from the splendor of nighttime roses  ----    the most treasured in the garden    /    a gentle breeze  ,    the howling of wolves  ,    the catastrophic cacophony of her undoing    )                       HOW EXUISITE YOU ARE                      how contrary  ,    the maddening beauty of your paradoxical existence  .    cruel  ,    darkened creature of blood    &    iron  ----    you were made to be adored  ,    but in shadows you must hide  ,    for what blessed curse hides in the very marrow of your bones    /    pollutes your blood    /    grows in your lungs  .    infectious  ,    like disease  ,    and yet you love it despite its agony                       (    what gifts the night has given  ,    and though it aches  ----     and takes from you without remorse  ,    you willingly feed the mouth of the beast    )                       ❝    christine  .  .  .    ❞  

it is a sigh  ,    spoken like a prayer  ,   or a song                       (    but truly  ,     what was the difference between the two  ?    )                       it sits melancholy on her tongue  ,    turns    &    rumbles     &    aches like some ancient memory  .    her hands in her lap  ,    clenched the chiffon    &    velvet around her body                       ❝    you know me too well  ,    how could you tell  ?    ❞                        a songbird  ,    unafraid of what monstrous things grew wings in the night  .    had she no fear  ?    no trembling heart  ,    or worry of what could happen  ?                      (    though i am old  ,    and well practiced in the art of mercy  ,    there are those who would rob you of your life just around the corner    )

her eyes close  ,    and the familiar pain rises in her throat with hungry claws                      ❝      you know i could not ask that of you  ,    it is a cruel demand for me to make  ----     your heart is too kind    ❞  

[luemiere]

every day of my life i think about the quote "but inside i am old, and filled with the deaths of other people" and how jean is literally a person constructed of momentos of the dead and memories of so many people and how nice it must be to be someone remembered by her, because even after you die you'll never truly be dead, every single person lives in her in some way. there will always be some fond memory, some insightful conversation, some new habit that will stay with her forever. there will always be a flower planted in the garden in your name and honor. how she has seen so much death, how she has held the hands of the dying and watched the lights fade in people's eyes and how you have to wonder how much of that agony can one woman swallow before her own light starts to dim and her softness starts to turn into steel edges, and yet how despite it all she's retained all her gentleness and warmth and grace. and how it still hurts so much though and all the tears she has shed and the agonies she has felt and the times she's been on her knees and screamed because no matter how small the death, or how distant the person, each time it is another soul gone-- each time its another gravestone erected in her chest, each time its another flower in the garden. and how it must be so much work, keeping the dead like that, remembering all these ghosts. how heavy it must be. but someone has to do it

[weltenwellen]

Mary Oliver, from “Flare”, Devotions

[kittenplaylist]

Candy (1968)

[luemiere]

i think tonight's sad post is about how jean’s illness is still very much there and detrimental to how she lives to the point that she is very uncapable of doing strenuous physical activity  (  she can only run an extremely short distance before she becomes winded and starts gasping for breath  &  coughing  )  which means she hasn’t been able to really dance in a long time ,  which was a big part of her .  the ballet  /  ballerina  (  motifs ,  as well as physically being a ballerina  )  were a large part of her .  and its evident that she is still a dancer ,  she walks with a dancer’s grace ,  like its ingrained into the very core of her being .  she’ll often spin along or do small dance steps to songs as she works ,  but she can’t do long ,  strenuous ,  practices or performances anymore .  that aside ,  in general she is still easily fatigued and weak .  she gets tired easily ,  she can fall asleep anywhere ,  she even still has the odd fainting spell occasionally ,  as well as coughing spells .  they are usually far and few inbetween ,  but they still crop up and take her by surprise and leave her weak and weary for awhile .

[luemiere]

𝕾𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖊    𝕵𝖊𝖆𝖓𝖓𝖊   -   𝕷𝖔𝖚𝖎𝖘𝖊  :    patron saint of wayward artists    &    lost souls

just outside the city of paris  ,    in an unknown woods  ,    sits a small home nestled in a small meadow  .    all around it blooms a vibrant garden  ,    fruits    &    vegetables sprung from the earth  ,   and flowers  ----    seemingly forever in bloom  ,    brighter    &    more beautiful than the sun itself  .    the trees sway gently in the wind  .    and through open windows comes the sound of soft singing  ,    melodic    &    crystalline  ,   like birds  ----    like fairytales  .    the smell of warm  ,   fresh baked foods follows quickly behind  .    if you peek through the door  ,   left cracked open  ,    you can often see a woman dancing alone slowly  .    you’d think the sight sad  ,    but instead it fills you with a sort of peace  .    there is joy in her movements still  ,    and you have the strange sense that even if she looks alone  ,    she always dances with a partner                   (    ghosts  ?   the wind  ?   you’re unsure  ,    but you know it’s true    )                      everything is golden  ,    caught in the cascade of warm sunlight from above  .

this house seems to call to you  ,    though you do not know how you found yourself there  ,    whether it be by fate or by happenstance  ,    you are overcome with relief                     (    she herself has led you here  .    weary traveler  ,    an artist with holes in the soles of your shoes    )                      you step inside  ,    unhesitant but curious  ,    and she greets you with a smile  .    she seems to know why you’re here  ----    she sees your easel sticking out of your worn bags  .    her hands are warm as she guides you to the table  .    without even asking she has placed a meal in front of you  ,    and told you to stay as long as you would like  ----    there is a bedroom just to the left over there  ,    the bed is already made  ,    it can be your home for as long as you need it  .

you do just that  .    while you are there your inspiration returns to you  .    you paint the forests  ,    the gardens  ,   the structure of her home  .    you sketch her as she moves through the home  ,    with all the grace of a dancer                     (    or you write your music  ,    play on the worn piano in the corner  ----    though you swear that you catch her watching you with tears in her eyes    /    or you dance through the fields  ,    guided by her instruction    &   praise    /    no matter what it is you do  ,    you refind your love there    )                        and though you do not know how  ,    you know exactly when it is the right time for you to leave  .    she sends you off with a sack full of food to keep you on your journey  ,    you leave her with some of your art  ----    mementos of your thanks  .    you write her letters until the day you die  .    she keeps every single one of them  .

[luemiere]

@deadactor​ said  :    ❝  i    lose    everyone    i    love  ❞  

𝑔𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑓    𝑖𝑠    𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠                   it is senseless  ,    abstract  ,    overwhelming  .    it is a tidal wave    /    a natural disaster    /    it is pure devastation that threatens to drown you every waking moment of every day until you can swim back to shore                  (    grief holds hands with love  ,    and so too does death  .    for as much as we wish it untrue  ,    such things are always connected    )                  and to be immortal  ,    is to know them all far more intimately than you could ever dream of                       to be eternal  ,    you must bare your soul    /    open your eyes    /    become witness to them                       you must take each love with caution  ,    you must hold it in your hands  ,   and cherish it  ,    and know that death will follow close behind  .    you must watch the faces of those you adore turn from smiles caught in hazed sunlight  ,    to grim facades laid in a casket  .    you must know grief intricately  .    you must understand it  ,    and know that it understands you  .    it will lay with you  ,    side by side  ,    as you mourn in your bed for days  .    it will hover over your shoulder  ,   rest its head wearily on your back  ,    cling to you like a lover years later  .    even when you think the grief is done  ,    that it has left to haunt another  ,    one day you will open your eyes and see it lingering in the corner again  .    𝑦𝑜𝑢    𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙    ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟    𝑡ℎ𝑒    𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒    𝑜𝑓    𝑎    𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑔  ,    𝑜𝑟    𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟    𝑡ℎ𝑒    𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑠    𝑜𝑓    𝑎    𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟  ,    𝑜𝑟    𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ    𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟    ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠    𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑡    𝑎    𝑐𝑜𝑎𝑡    𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔    𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑜𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑛  ,    and the grief will reclaim you with all the dizzying suddenness of a hurricane

                                    i    lose    everyone    i    love

you understand that all too well  .    how many dead live within you  ?    how many souls  ,   faces  ,   voices  ,   memories  ----    do you keep alive by mere thought of determination alone  ?    how many have died in the sanctuary of your arms    /    gazed up at your face as if you were an angel  ,    heaven-sent  ?    how many letters sit in your desk  ,    messages of condolence    &    horrible news    /    ℎ𝑜𝑤    𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑦    𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙    ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑑    𝑡ℎ𝑒    𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛    𝑜𝑓     𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟    𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠    𝑖𝑛    𝑡ℎ𝑒    𝑖𝑛𝑘  ?    you understand loss more than most  ,    you have slept with grief for years on end  ,   letting it try to eat away at your heart                  (    but you are stronger  ,   rose - hearted  ,   born from love  .    you are unwavering in the storm  ,    and though grief has brought you to your knees  ,    𝐲𝐨𝐮    𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞    𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐝    𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧    )                  ❝  you won’t lose me  ❞  

it is spoken with purpose  ,   assurance  .    𝑖𝑡    𝑖𝑠    𝑎    𝑑𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑑  ,    𝑎    𝑑𝑒𝑐𝑙𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛    𝑡𝑜    𝑡ℎ𝑒    𝑔𝑜𝑑𝑠    𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑣𝑒  ----    you will not lose me  ,   no god can take me  ,   no heaven could bind me                  i am a light that will always find its way back to you                   her hands  ,    bared before him for the first time  ,   gently wrap around theirs    /    her soul pierces the darkness of his eyes  ,   commanding                  (    𝒚𝒐𝒖    𝒂𝒓𝒆    𝒂𝒏    𝒂𝒕𝒍𝒂𝒔  ,    𝒂𝒏𝒅    𝒔𝒐    𝒂𝒎    𝒊  .    but i have shouldered such sorrow for longer  ,   and i am asking you to rest your weight on my shoulders too   )                  you do not have to be alone  ,   you do not have to wallow in shadow    &    let darkness overcome  ,    you do not have to fear the reaper  ,   or eternity  .   death is assured  ,   you have felt it    &    so have i  ,    it has pierced your skin    &    watched the life spill from you slowly  .    𝑦𝑜𝑢    𝑎𝑟𝑒    𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟    𝑜𝑤𝑛    𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑝𝑒𝑟    𝑛𝑜𝑤  ,    𝑦𝑜𝑢    𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑑    𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟    𝑜𝑤𝑛    𝑔𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑓  ,    and i will always be beside you

  ❝  look at me  .    you won’t lose me  ❞  

[luemiere]

ℎ𝑒𝑟    ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡    𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑚𝑠  ,    𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑦  ,                   at the mere sight of you     excitement rises in her throat  ,    an orchestra’s crescendo in her chest    /    the flutter of dove’s wings taking flight against the rapid beat of her heart  .    joy overwhelming  ,    smile brighter than sunlight as her hands clasp christine’s tightly                  ❝  ma chérie  ❞                  tears come to the corners of her eyes  ,    light    &    clear like spring rain  .    she is without hesitation  ,    or reservation  ,    as she throws her arms around the girl with a bubble of laughter  ----    𝑐𝑟𝑦𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑒  ,    𝑚𝑢𝑠𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑙  ,    𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ 𝑜𝑓 𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑦𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑠                  ❝  oh  ,    how i have missed you  ❞  

@littleingenue​

[luemiere]

actually you know what jean’s little cottage being a home for wayward souls is very important to me. it’s the house that frederich & her used to live in, and in a way it sort of draws lost people to it. the large gardens surrounding the house, the forest just beyond swaying gently, the way it’s just in a little meadow in the middle of nowhere. worn cobblestone path, windows open, the sounds of singing & the smells of warm cooking coming from inside. for quite awhile, actually, jean had a painter stay with her. he was too poor to afford lodgings inside of paris, so she let him stay with her. she cooked for him, and he painted pictures of her gardens, her meadow, the forests around them. and when he one day left he gave her some of his paintings to keep. once he got his footing elsewhere he would write her letters, thanking her for her hospitality and the inspiration her home had given him. and though she was all too familiar with people dying, she still wept the day the artists family sent her a letter saying he had died

[luemiere]

uquiz  +  how  does  it  feel  to  be  loved  by  you  ?

result  :   it    feels    like    home  .    you're the kind of person that makes people feel safe  .    you probably couldn't be intimidating if you tried  ,    but that doesn't matter  .    what matters is your kindness and compassion  ,    your innate way of making people feel happy  .    you're so good at taking care of everybody else  ,    but don't forget to take care of yourself  ,    too  !    you deserve the same love you give so freely

tagged  by  :     @hit-grrrl  ♡