𝙴𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙷𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙼𝚂 𝙼𝙰𝙺𝙴 𝚂𝙰𝙽𝙲𝚃𝚄𝙰𝚁𝙸𝙴𝚂 𝙸𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝙿𝙰𝙲𝙴 beneath her palm and they are living are thrashing are unpredictable and coiling around fingers as wrists appear, stained, out of the aching earth. delicate as a heart that's been robbed of its warmth she holds her palms and the living within them close to her breast—-and for moments she is mother / protection; until she is not.
a sense of alarm grows eyes and legs with every crawl upwards of her spine , it nestles there (right of her shoulder) with weight akin to a heavy hand. 𝚂𝙷𝙴, 𝙸𝙽 𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚈 𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚂𝙴, 𝙸𝚂 𝙾𝙽 𝙴𝙳𝙶𝙴. edge of turning to uncurtain what’s lurking; edge is where she is folded on knees against a quiet name carved in curvilinear granite. 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏, though if she were to truly have thought, she’d compare it to the presence across the greens behind her. When murmurs of mortals ever reached ears, she imagined the cherishment of the present and carriage of oneself brightly... to have the bearings similar to that of river cocytus, she did not expect.
❝ were you searching for something among the lost? ❞
aside the unfamiliar seed growing vines at the base of her vertebrae, she wondered if a lover was distracted. no tale of soul escapings had reached her 𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚗, she finds little to believe it would begin now and still, she wonders.
starter bc i love u @souririse