#mary crow

[majestativa]

I don’t need light to see into my blood’s abyss, into the shipwreck of my kind.

OLGA OROZCO — Engravings Torn from Insomnia, transl. by Mary Crow, (2002)

[x-thimblekisses-x]

Joshua Tree

She was tall, dark and beautiful -- everything Amy was not, she lamented, thinking of her own pale and plain features. Not even the patched old clothes Mary had borrowed could dim her natural beauty...

Meanwhile, Mary was daydreaming about a girl with ivory skin and grey eyes like crystals. Her pale golden curls framed her face, catching the sunlight like a glowing halo. She imagined all the angels in heaven looking just like her...

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It was a fine day in The Heartlands, all clear skies and sunshine. Tucked away a little northwest of the Overflow, near the Ambarino border, stood a modest horse ranch. Its livestock far outnumbered its staff, which, until quite recently, had been only the lone inheritor, Miss Amy O'Callaghan. Now, however, it seemed there would be a new hand on deck, with the regular presence of one Mary Crow, the ranch owner's unlikely bosom friend.

The pair had let the horses out into the field to graze under the warm sun while the ladies brushed them -- a relaxing pastime in itself. Mary enjoyed the breeze, grateful for New Hanover's cooler climate after years living in the deserts of New Austin.

She had forgone her usual twin braids and worn-out men's  jeans, instead borrowing a set of clothes from Amy. The sleeves and skirt hem were a little short for her taller figure, but she found herself liking the change of wardrobe regardless. She hadn't worn a dress since her days at the convent, and found a childish kind of joy in swishing the skirt around. As silly as it sounded, she had almost forgotten what it was like to feel so obviously feminine.

She felt...pretty.

Apparently, she wasn't the only one who thought so.

Amy stole glances as she tended to Bridget, absentmindedly running the brush through the horse's mane. Her attention was elsewhere, staring enviously at the long, sleek black hair that fell down her companion's back. She was tall, dark and beautiful -- everything Amy was not, she lamented, thinking of her own pale and plain features. Not even the patched old clothes Mary had borrowed could dim her natural beauty.

Mary was captivating. For all the mystery that shrouded her, her heart was decidedly open. She was thoughtful and tender-hearted, choosing mercy over violence and wildflowers over diamonds and pearls.

Softness like Mary possessed was a rarity in this tough old world, and, though it felt selfish of her, Amy desperately wished Mary would continue to linger. The wanderer didn't seem to have decided yet whether she wished to accept Amy's proposal of permanent residence, and with every passing day the blonde grew more and more reluctant to watch her leave.

Meanwhile, Mary was daydreaming about a girl with ivory skin and grey eyes like crystals. Her pale golden curls framed her face, catching the sunlight like a glowing halo. She imagined all the angels in heaven looking just like her.

The girl she thought of was passionate, lively and easily underestimated. Resilient as a Joshua Tree in the desert, Amy was strong in ways that Mary could not bring herself to be, willing to do whatever it takes to protect what she loves.

Turning the other cheek was a virtue Mary adopted by choice, but then again, she had never had anyone else to worry about. But now...?

Mary risked sneaking a glance at Amy, only to catch the blonde doing the exact same thing. Their eyes locked, and for a moment, they hesitated, each of them taking turns to make as if they were going to say something, before deciding against it.

"I-- ehm...I think ya missed a spot there," Amy finally muttered, gesturing vaguely at the Suffolk Punch that Mary was brushing.

"Oh," Mary blanked, inspecting Rowan's red mane. She sheepishly turned back to the more knowledgeable of them for help. "...Could you show me?"

Amy left Bridget and walked over, standing behind Mary and covering her lithe brown hand with her own, guiding the brush's path while her other hand steadied itself around Mary's back. She sighed gently, wishing she could hold onto the other woman forever and not let her go.

"Like this?"

"...Just like that," Amy mumbled, her tone uncharacteristically glum.

Mary stopped brushing Rowan and turned to face her friend. Those crystal eyes were clouded with sadness, but why?

She instinctively put her arms around Amy, pulling her into a reassuring embrace. At first Amy thought she had imagined it, but Mary said something to her then, so softly it was barely audible:

"Angels shouldn't cry."

Amy was so touched she sobbed, shamelessly clinging to the raven-haired object of her affection.

"Please don't leave me," she pleaded into Mary's shoulder. "I don't want to be alone."

Gentle hands lifted the golden-haired girl's head up and wiped the tears from her eyes. Mary then returned the gesture Amy had done unto her so many times before, unabashedly kissing her on the cheek like it was second nature.

"I'm not going anywhere," she promised.

[headlightsforever]

Mary Crow, “Hitch Hiker at a Truck Stop”, from I Have Tasted the Apple, BOA Editions, Ltd., 1996

[cleaetpauline60]

Karin Entertainment  ~ Otome Heroine ~

[majestativa]

Already you had appeared in this world, intact in your immaculate blackness.

OLGA OROZCO — Engravings Torn from Insomnia, transl. by Mary Crow, (2002)

[majestativa]

My most beautiful hiding places are solitary sites where no one goes, and where there are shadows that only come to life when I am the magician.

OLGA OROZCO — Engravings Torn from Insomnia, transl. by Mary Crow, (2002)

[majestativa]

My story rests in my hands and in the hands of those who tattooed them.

OLGA OROZCO — Engravings Torn from Insomnia, transl. by Mary Crow, (2002)

[majestativa]

Your heart is captured by the century’s claws.

OLGA OROZCO — Engravings Torn from Insomnia, transl. by Mary Crow, (2002)