wanderlust

i want the world to be mine.

[mementobellum-blog]

“And just who the hell are you–!?”

He points with one hand while holding onto his towel-wrapped dignity with the other. 

“You. You’re that duck man.”

[seriedefragmento-blog]

“An honest man. And the ducks are long gone, mind you.”

“Tch. You don’t need the towel, I tend to look at peoples’ faces when I speak to them. And to think — what sort of warrior has never been forced to enter combat while nude? Your shame’ll only be a hindrance, you know.”

[mementobellum-blog]

“WHO STOLE MY CLOTHES?!”

[seriedefragmento-blog]

“They were both expensive and disgustingly flamboyant.”

“The merchants ate it right up!”

[seriedefragmento-blog]

I owe plenty here as it is but if you’d like a starter sometime you can feel free to like this.

[mementobellum-blog]

Another failed hunt, another night of hunger pangs and disruptive growls; he can’t take it anymore. Enough is enough. He pulls himself upright, swats away the leaves and twigs caught in his hair, and heads back for the bonfire and feast: Both aromas make him salivate in a way that is unbecoming of a prince. His stomach cares little for his dignity – the two have never gotten along – and claims every ounce of focus his sleep-deprived mind is able to produce.

Grumbling irritably as he climbs over roots and rocks and fallen trunks, he hears the music and singing voices. The table is as full as before, as if the food were left untouched. (But he knows people were eating. He saw it with his own eyes.)

He ducks away from the festivities and gathers a modest serving for himself. Part of him feels like this is no better than thievery. The other part of him must view this as a boon.

It doesn’t take long for him to empty his plate. The prince sighs and reaches for a glass–

“Ow! Wh-what the heck is this thing?”

A bizarre exotic… fruit? stands where the glass once was. He rubs at his eyes in disbelief. Is he hallucinating dinnerware now? He shakes his head and opts for another– Gods! He stares at his bruised and pricked hand in mortification.

“Okay, seriously, who’s behind this crap?”

@seriedefragmento

[seriedefragmento-blog]

Grow up a starving man and you’ll never deny a feast  — well, that isn’t entirely true. It lights a flame, one fueled by a raw need for survival.

Unfortunately, there’s always the question of whether or not it’s poisoned.

Jacopo, already seated, eyes the table warily. The group of ducks settled on the seats beside him quack with delight. They somehow scale the legs of the table, circling the plates like buffoons. Well, they aren’t buffoons. They’re ducks. Too many of them for that matter. A man has seated himself — sandy locks, slender eyes, is he half and half he wonders? — not too far beyond him. His gaze flickers towards him every minute or so, inspecting his every move.

“Will you dolts settle down,” he says, his fork and knife gradually tearing through a robust, brown steak. The ducks simply flap their wings in turn. “Oi! You.” There’s a finger pointed directly at one of the especially plump birds of the bunch. It ambles on over towards his plate. Jacopo then tears off piece of his steak, catches it in between his fingers and gestures it towards the little one.

“Sincerely sorry if this kills you, but know that it was for a noble cause at the least.” It doesn’t hesitate, not in the slightest, nipping at the meat and swallowing it down in a single motion. It squees afterwards, as if it’s aware of its victory. A small smirk plays along Jacopo’s lips at the sight of it all.

“Well, looks like you’re stronger than I thought — and to think that it wasn’t poisoned. Tread carefully. The corn,” He gestures towards a bowl of yellow. “Is for you.” There comes the cacophony of auspicious quacks.

Nothing is worth noting until the pineapples come in. He doesn’t believe it, not at first. But then comes another, and another.

Jacopo leans forward, a brow cocked all the while. “I don’t have a clue, but if you manage to use this little hex to your advantage it’ll be more a blessing than anything.”  He rests his knee against the leg of the table. “You could supply a city’s worth of people with food or make a fortune — if you’re smart enough, both at once for that matter.” The ducks flap their wings in agreement and proceed to rush towards their newfound acquaintance.

“Ha. Don’t tell me you plan on sulking at a bunch of fruit now.”

[seriedefragmento-blog]

iii. & v.

iii. Why did you decide to join Arietta?

Because I love the mods and would die for them.

Personal attachments aside, I’ve been looking for a place where I 1) feel genuinely comfortable writing 2) can write with my friends 3) can carry out themes and plots that have actual significance. This lovely little place pinged all three. I’ve been rping on tumblr for years (although jcink and so forth aren’t much better LMAO), frankly I’m tired of this hellsite and its hellcommunities and this was a refreshing change of pace. You know how it is.

In conclusion: I’m bitter but now I’m glad so!

v. Name another muse you've considered bringing to Arietta!

I’m currently in the process of finishing up Dia and Connor’s blogs so yeah. I’m contemplating bringing Shiro from FE14 and I’d probably bring Goro if I weren’t at risk of spoiling you. 

[seriedefragmento-blog]

ii and iv!!

ii. What was the process behind creating your muse’s glade?

Because of the meta nature of his source material, Jacopo already has an equivalent to a “glade” in canon. Although in canon it’s merely a wheat field and a wheat field alone, as it’s his ideal purgatory rather than a representation of him as a whole.

The wheat field is canonically a metaphor for Jacopo’s repressed childhood trauma. Jacopo had purposefully shoved any and every memory that remained of his parents prior to being sold off to the back of his mind in order to maintain his own mental health. The only memory he allowed himself to keep in its entirety was the sight of a wheat field: before his life had taken a sharp turn towards the cornerstone of survival, constant abuse from the world itself and hardship, he remembers the wheat field he had found peace in as a child. It’s a tranquility he has never known since, and for that reason he keeps it alive through his memory.

As for everything else, they’re essentially bits and pieces of his life. There’s a worn down, bloodied castle off in the distance, wandering merchants, a large oak tree, a riverbed, a graveyard and if you squint you have a rather nice view of the sea. I’d rather not overexplain, but I simply sought to capture what exactly was on Jacopo’s mind and the fragments of his psyche.

iv. What’s your favorite aspect about the group?

My favorite people are all here for one. Everyone here seems to genuinely care about their writing which is wow, something you don’t get often in tumblr rp — and due to how flexible, as well as abstract the setting is, you’re able to expand themes within canon to your liking without anything restraining you. Idk, it’s nice to be able to carry out plots that are more than “let’s have these characters be friends / enemies / fluffy little lovers!”

If you want to do something meaningful here, well, you can. It also feels as though every character counts due to, again, the setting alongside the comfortable size of our cast.

[seriedefragmento-blog]

ᴀʀɪᴇᴛᴛᴀ ᴀsᴋ ᴍᴇᴍᴇ

i. Can you name someone else's glade that you really like?

ii. What was the process behind creating your muse's glade?

iii. Why did you decide to join Arietta?

iv. What's your favorite aspect about the group?

v. Name another muse you've considered bringing to Arietta!

vi. Can you name a relationship dynamic between your muse and another's you like?

vii. Is there someone you want your muse to meet?

viii. Is your muse prone to nightmares? How would you incorporate this at Arietta?

ix. [ reblog with your own questions! ]

[seriedefragmento-blog]

prism.

[saintemia-deactivated20170513]

the feeling clutching at her heart is threatening to clamp down and end whatever life is still coursing through her veins, but she can’t close the door. she doesn’t want to hear this: the girl and man he thinks he knows are not in the world he’s dreaming of, but his memories prick at her own to wake them up. she can feel the pain, feel the feverish heat of each strike with his voice and she wants him to stop. it’s clawing beneath the surface of her skin like the metal that pierced through him with such ease, and she feels her throat close to avoid the urge to purge her insides with a necessary release. 

     shut up, shut up, shut up —

she is the girl they raised their arms for, the girl that brought his life to ruins again… again? something flashes in her head and she clutches at her forehead, temple pulsating as she pieces together what she saw and prays she imagined. someone smiling, but smiling at what? there is a wheel, two tiny people, a gentle touch against her shoulder, another smile and it’s towards herself. but why does she have white hair?

SHUT UP.

her nails scratch against the door frame with the tug that brings her back to reality and to a still sleeping man muttering his dream. her eyes sting with the hint of tears and she feels her anger returning to her still form, her hand trembling as she pushes the door open again to return to his side with a glower.

          “ why? ”

her voice is a sob compared to the yelling inside her head.

          “ after all this time, why? ”

this is the girl they killed the man she loves over. this is her: tired and weak, but still angry and hurt and trying. the tears cling to her waterline but she refuses to blink to set them free. her cheeks feel too hot, her head is pounding, her heart is heavy, and she’s here. she’s beside a man she hates to love and it doesn’t make sense. she shouldn’t be here, but she can’t move.

          “ i hate you. ”

another cry. another pitiful reminder of her humanity —

          “ but why is it so hard to actually feel that way? ”

she only wanted to wait a year.

     who did? the saint, the witch or the girl?

she extends her arm, ready to do what should’ve been done minutes ago but her hand is trembling as it hovers over his face. why does he still look so peaceful? her breathing steadies and, despite the storm brewing inside her, she wavers. it is light; a graze to trace against his cheek that lasts for what feels like a century to her fingertips.

          “ i wish the girl could stop loving you. ”

her steps are quiet as she gives distance between them again, her mind hazy as she slammed the door shut with her leave. it is loud and she prays, now, that he’ll wake up. she can barely calm the trembling as she listens, ear pressed against wood as she tries to listen for a more obvious noise to cue her arrival. the pounding of her heart beats like a drum inside her ear and she closes her eyes, sees a familiar smile and curses at the part of her that almost smiles back.

     please wake up.

[seriedefragmento-blog]

“I hate you” is numb and empty. It’s a pinch at his arm, a small tear on the outskirts of his heart. Her voice is not what clears the fog of his mind. It’s not what grips him by the ankle and drags him back towards the wood.

It’s a sob.

Something works its way up her throat, strangled and painful. The tides shrink into oblivion, the sand slowly fades into a deep brown, leveling out into a hard floor. Whatever strokes his cheek is soft and kind, far too much of both for a man such as himself. He shifts in his seat. A warmth blooms in his chest. It is not one he deserves. He knows this.

After all this time, Morgana. 

The sound of wood creaking against a frame is his cue. Slowly does he rise, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck. Jacopo’s vision is somewhat hazy, but a bit of fog has never stopped him before. He steps forward and grips the door knob. She’s breathing from the other side. That’s a start.

“Sorry. My mind drifted off again and...” He swallows and drums at the knob. “...I do that, sometimes. That habit of mine got worse throughout the years.”

A pause. This honesty shtick doesn’t come easily.

“Your letters, or...hers...my wife’s.” White tresses of hair fade to red. He hesitates, and yet there is a warm fondness emanating from each and every word. “I still have them. Every single one.” Hell, he has them memorized by heart. My beloved Jacopo — a pain sears through his stomach, and his gaze hits the floor.

Through the window there is the pitiful sight of a man scavenging through his trash, desperately grasping at scraps of paper. In the little spare time he has away from his business, he sits alone at his desk, assembling remnants of tear stained declarations of love. It takes him approximately a decade to put back together what was lost. It’s never the same. The memory of her smile is fresh in his mind, but it’s that and that only: a memory.

“It’s alright...to be angry. I told you that long ago, didn’t I?” He leans into the door. “You’re young. There’s no use in repressing it — your hurt and your tears. That’s how men like me are made. You...”

There’s blood underneath his fingernails.

“You have the right to mourn yourself, Morgana. You’re only human.”

He turns the knob and steps forward. He’s greeted by a vibrant red, the only red he needs in this lifetime. Jacopo’s fingers graze against her wrist — his touch is gentle. Suddenly, the walls around them become undone. He’s fitted in a suit and tie, and she in a black dress that cascades down to her ankles. Her hair is red.

It’s a familiar shop — oil stained floors and cushioned velvet seats that stand before a lineup of archaic technology. The shopkeep beams at them, grinning like a fool. Jacopo tips his head in his direction.

“Quite the looker you got here, Jacopo. Who’s the little lady?”

Jacopo’s lips slowly furl into a smile. There is an inexplicable shine in his eyes.

“She’s someone dear to me.” Maria always said to be honest. “Or rather, a girl I love with every bit of who and what I am.” That bit trickles out before his mind can catch up with it. He’ll regret it later, but not now. 

“But I suppose that question is better suited for her, so I’ll let her do the talking.”

[seriedefragmento-blog]

🍋:What are qualities in a leader that you feel are not acceptable in the very least? Why do you believe this?

“Oh, goodness. Where do I start? Lack of vision, lack of courage, lack of will, lack of competence, lack of intelligence. I have an especially personal hatred for men who let a nice pair of legs distract them from their work. If you can’t shove it back down where it belongs, what good are you for?

Bigotry is unproductive in nature. Your subordinates should be judged by ability and the results they yield. An absence of ambition is why far too much of the world is at a standstill. Tch, the people who don’t know how to do so much as dream are the most pitiful of them all.”

“Of course, the worst leaders are those who have no grasp of what instrumental utility entails. The majority comes first, always. And the ones too scared to face the weight of responsibility? They aren’t leaders to start with — they’re worthless cowards, and the only leading they’ve done is towards a cliff. I can only hope they’re stupid enough to follow the stray sheep.”

[seriedefragmento-blog]

kek

[seriedefragmento-blog]

🍔🍤🍙

🍔: Would you rather eat out or cook for yourself? If you were forced to eat out, what types of places would you go to?

“Neither. That’s what maids are for.”

“If I had to pick though, I’d start with a decent Italian restaurant. None of this American nonsense.”

🍤: Do you believe that broken relationships can be mended? What is something that, to you, immediately breaks a relationship?

“I...I truly and sincerely don’t know. I’ve always liked to believe that anything could be achieved through relentless work. But people and hearts and feelings, they’re...they’re different.”

“All you can do is fight and see what comes of it. Maybe some things aren’t meant to be mended while others are. I suppose it’s up to you to distinguish which is what. It’s not...like I’ve figured it out myself yet.”

🍙: Do you practice a religion? If so, which one? For what reason do you practice it?

“Back in Sicily, the church was everything. But me? I come from men who don’t care for any God — if you can’t see it, touch it, shoot it, spend it, it’s of no importance. Simple, isn’t it?.”

“In the 11th century, however...ha, I was destined for hell the second I took that first kill. I didn’t care. Morgana...she was the only remnant of faith I ever had in my life.”

[seriedefragmento-blog]

Send me a food emoji for my muse to answer questions!

☕️: Do you prefer coffee or tea? Why?

🍵: Do you stick with your family's values and beliefs? Why or why not?

🍶: Can you hold you liquor? How much can you take before you act drunk? How much before you pass out?

🍺: What are some traditions that you have? What do they mean to you?

🍸: Do you like your body? Do you wish to have a different skin tone, hair color, eye color, etc.? How come?

🍹: Dream vacation? What makes it so appealing to you?

🍷: Have you made any modifications to your body, such as plastic surgery, piercings, tattoos, etc.?

🍕: Are you a sports fanatic? If so, what kind?

🍔: Would you rather eat out or cook for yourself? If you were forced to eat out, what types of places would you go to?

🍟: Do you train, whether it be just working out or learning to control any abilities you have? Do you enjoy it? Is there something you do or enjoy doing afterwards?

🍗: Are your sleeping and eating patterns well-established or irregular? Do you wish to change that?

🍖: How much time do you spend with family and friends? Do you feel as if it is enough?

🍝: Is there a random thing that just reminds you of home or a pleasant memory? Do you understand why or do you see absolutely no correlation between it and the memory?

🍛: Do you open up to strangers easily? How long does it take to earn your trust? What does it take?

🍤: Do you believe that broken relationships can be mended? What is something that, to you, immediately breaks a relationship?

🍱: What is your thought on keeping pets? If you had to have one pet, which would you have?

🍣: Do you live a simple or fancy lifestyle? What is the underlying reason? Do you wish to change that?

🍥: Do you pay more attention to intricate details or the bigger picture? Or do you believe that you keep a balance of the two?

🍙: Do you practice a religion? If so, which one? For what reason do you practice it?

🍘: What does honor mean to you? Do you have honor? To what extent do you have it?

🍚: Is there such thing as "too plain" to you? What is the embodiment of those words?

🍜: Do you like heat or cold more? What is something you find unappealing about the other one?

🍲: Are you patient? How far does your patience go? What is one thing that will tick you off no matter what?

🍢: Are you open to trying new things? Why or why not?

🍡: Have you ever met a person who changed you significantly? How did they change you? Did they open your eyes? Make you a better person?

🍳: Do you accept hospitality and help from others? Are you someone who will provide assistance? To whom?

🍞: How do you view your current life? Do you find it to be a fortunate or unfortunate situation? Is it plain, or does it have flavor?

🍩: Do you approve of your hometown's law enforcement? How about your current home's system? What makes you feel the way you do about it?

🍮: Traditional or Modern? What do you dislike about the other lifestyle?

🍦: How often do you treat yourself? What do you treat yourself to? A spa day, alcohol, etc.?

🍨: Do you stress eat? What (other) activities do you take part in to relieve stress?

🍧: Do you want children? If so, how many? Do you believe that to be complete, a woman must bear offspring?

🎂: Do you celebrate birthdays? Do you enjoy birthdays? How do you usually feel on your birthday?

🍰: Are some holidays overly mainstream? Which ones feel pointless and over-exaggerated?

🍪: Are there simple things that make you happy? What are some of them? Do they make you feel that way because of a connection to something? If so, what is that connection?

🍫: Do you have any guilty pleasures? Does the guilt in them come right away or slowly build up? Despite those feelings, are they worth it?

🍬: Do you have a sweet tooth? How often do you indulge in sweets?

🍭: Did you enjoy your childhood? Why or why not? What memory most influenced your current reflection?

🍯: Have you ever made a promise to someone or yourself that you couldn't keep? How do you feel about it?

🍎: What, in your opinion, is your best quality? What do others say is your best quality? Do you agree with them?

🍏: What, in your opinion, is your worst quality? What do others say is your worst quality? Do you agree with them?

🍊: What do you look for in a leader? Can you describe an ideal leader?

🍋: What are qualities in a leader that you feel are not acceptable in the very least? Why do you believe this?

🍒: What is your sexual orientation? What is your romantic preference? If you have any, what are your turn ons? What about turn offs?

🍇: Are you a virgin? If so, do want to stay that way? If not, how did you lose your virginity?

🍉: Could you stay with the same person all your life? Do you feel comfortable with a commitment like that? Why or why not?

🍓: Do you give second chances? Are you comfortable with cutting all ties and bonds with people?

🍑: Is there a meaning behind your name? Do you like your name? Have you ever changed it?

🍈: What do you identify as in terms of gender? Are you male, female, genderfluid, genderqueer, agender, or non-binary? Do you identify with the gender you were assigned at birth? If not, what was the point when you found out that you weren't cisgender?

🍌: Do you like playing pranks? Do you find them amusing? If someone were to play one on you, how would you feel?

🍐: Do you carry a lot of responsibility on your shoulders? Does it bother you?

🍍: Which do you find more appealing, beaches or mountains? What are your reasons behind your opinion?

🍠: Does everyone have the potential to be a great person? Why or why not? Is there prejudice in your society against a group of people for a reason they cannot control?

🍆: Does someone's past define them? Can their mistakes be washed away completely, or will there always be significant damage? Does someone who's committed a crime deserve a second chance?

🍅: What is something you absolutely hate? What caused you to hate it so much?

🌽: Do you love yourself fully as a person? Why or why not?

[seriedefragmento-blog]

I updated my glade with a few informational notes as I’m aware this guy’s from a relatively obscure game! You can check them out if you’re totally lost or anything.

[asdsafaefe-deactivated20170113]

                    here she thinks that her dreams would be peaceful for once.

                    escapism is not an unfamiliar concept to rika; it’s how she manages to cope in such a corrupted, modern world. the natural forest, the beaming green - ah, it is her paradise. though solitary, she finds the loneliness comforting — no expectations nor pressures to become a woman she isn’t. she can be free. or rather, it’s supposed to be like that.

                    instead, this time, there’s a man. he looks strange, peculiar, sword on his hips & a grin on his face. almost from a fairy tale, really — the type with pirates & adventurers. but as this is her mind, who’s to say she can’t fathom such a possibility  ?  had she not known better, she would’ve guessed it holds hints of ploys, of deception. but he is a stranger to her & she is but a woman with an overly-contrived smile & a darkened mind. surely stories of pilferers don’t commonly exist anymore.

                    ❛  twenty percent  ?  a hefty price.  ❜  she replies with an amused tone, lips slightly curling upward. he reminds her of a child playing pirate, days of innocence  (  that she has imaged more than most, as it’s an experience she has sorely lacked  )  running rampant. nonetheless, if he wishes to play, she’ll act the part — she is a perfect pierrot, after all.   ❛  but, nonetheless, a fair price to pay for intrusion.  ❜

                    her hand draws to her pockets, pulling at the fabric to bring it outside. empty, no wallet, no money — just the extra fabric needed to create the pocket. whoops.  ❛  let’s see… twenty percent of zero is… ah, zero. will that be sufficient payment  ?  ❜

[seriedefragmento-blog]

Where there are wolves, there are always sheep. 

They aren’t mutually exclusive, however.

His arms come down, folding over one another, and a brow goes up. A blonde, blondes, it’s always a blonde. Doe eyed and dainty, that’s the type.

The trees rustle, the townspeople merrily traverse across the field, and the horses march on through the settlement behind them. Jacopo grips his sword, only for it to shift and flicker into a ray of light. Slowly does it decrease in size — it’s a stub at a first glance. But a glance is a glance, and the sword manifests as a lit cigar. Nothing more, nothing less.

He brings it to his lips and lets out a puff of smoke. It drifts towards her face. A chuckle follows shortly after.

“I like to think that smart mouths come with smart minds too but hey...you never know.” The thin, worn down and yellowed fabric of his excuse for a shirt is now a blindingly white dress shirt accompanied with a vest and tie. The polished shoes and dry cleaned slacks take their time, but they eventually creep up his legs and feet “What, you never been in purgatory before? You could’ve up and created a few coins in the time it took you to come up with that comeback — like bam.” He snaps and a gunshot promptly sounds in the background “But you didn’t think that far. Seems as though girls like you never do.”

Sighing, Jacopo idly fiddles with his cigar. His gaze is piercing and cold, and only barely does it graze across her own.

“What’s your name? If you don’t provide me with one I’ll have to take some creative liberties.”

“Or—” He snickers. “Are you going to tell me you don’t have that either?”

[seriedefragmento-blog]

prism.

[saintemia-deactivated20170513]

               morgana.

her name sounds sickly sweet when he says it and something in her chest churns with a familiar ache. her expression seems unreadable in her head, but she’s certain any pair of eyes that dared to look would see the conflicting sea of emotions she felt written plain as day on it. he looks content; his hair sprawling against white like dead leaves on solid snow and mumbling in his sleep. her hand extends towards his face, tempted to pinch at his nose and rip him out of the blissful state but she hesitates. fingers curl towards her palm and her hand falls back to her side, a squeeze given to the fabric of her cloak as she gazes off towards an uninteresting corner.

who would’ve guessed that his ego allows him to make this sort of face, she thinks. the chair she’s sitting on creaks with the straightening of her form, back pressing against it as she avoids staring too long at the man she —

               how about it?

his sluggish mumbles barely reach her ears, but she gives her attention near its end. ( how about what? ) it hangs in the air like a noose and she can feel the ache crawling its way up her throat this time, clawing raw the only part of her that she would choose to use if she ever stirs him from his slumber. but she will, she needs to. the world he’s in does not have her there. she’s here, she’s right here, stop dreaming of her  — of me.

          “ jacopo. ”

it’s not real, but he feels far away. her voice is weak with its initial delivery, but she clears her head and her throat of its annoyance in the process.

          “ jacopo, wake up. ”

she stands and returns to the door, opening it just enough to make her arrival seem more timely with her words.  she hopes the third time is the charm, but something tells her his dream is more enjoyable than whatever reality presents to him upon waking.

          “ jacopo. ”

[seriedefragmento-blog]

Morgana is the sun. There is a sea of gold reflected in her eyes. The vibrant apple red of her hair is a blade, grazing across the landscape of his mind. He begins to open his eyes in a slow, strenuous effort.

The fog is relentless, however.

She, in all her reds and golds, is a blur. He can hear the waves crash against the sand from afar, the squawking of seagulls, feel the crabs gently traversing across his feet with their pincers. It’s as though his heart has divorced itself from his being, and is now suspended in air. His mind desperately attempts to chase after it.

He’s not here, not in this room with her.

“Morgana...” Jacopo says again. His voice drops and drifts off.

Jacopo narrows his eyes. She’s here with him. He feels that. He feels so little these days, but he will always feel her.

“I always wanted to tell you...actually, I don’t exactly know where to start with this. There’s...so much I’ve always wanted to tell you.” He doesn’t smile with his mouth nor his eyes. It’s lost somewhere in his words. “Your eyes are beautiful. But uh, that isn’t what I wanted to say...” Or at least, he thinks.

He shuffles his feet. His soles scrape against the sand. Sand shouldn’t scrape, or creak he realizes. He knows.

“Do you know how I died?” A pause. It isn’t for her. “I was forked to death, essentially. The villagers weren’t especially nice, but who could blame them, really. They came in droves, each and every one armed. My compliments to the blacksmith. Didn’t occur to me that we had one that competent.”

He leans back. Against and into what, he has no idea.

“It was slow. They made sure it was. 4 knives up my calf, a pitchfork right through my stomach, daggers pinning my shoulders to the door. Yeah, that was the beginning. The end wasn’t much prettier. And do you know what they said as they did it?”

He closes his eyes.

“Justice for the girl. Not the witch. Not the saint. The girl. They did that...hell, burned the castle to the ground...for you. They were mourning Morgana, the innocent girl who was tormented to death.”

It is heavy, but a force tugs at the corners of his lips — it’s warm, and shines in his eyes as well.

“They set up a vigil for the girl, Morgana. The girl, Morgana, was mourned for the decades to come. I just thought...”

She is the sun, but curtains are meant to be closed, aren’t they?

“I just thought I should tell you that.”

[seriedefragmento-blog]

mariacampanella replied:

your wife is cute

fuck you she’s mine

[seriedefragmento-blog]

I’LL GET TO REPLIES AND STARTERS SHORTLY I PROMISE...on another note I hope you all have a wonderful week!