Find a moronic fledgling who had no idea what was going on, get them under her thumb, and make them do whatever she desired.
Perhaps it had something to do with her days in the sabbat, the grim pleasure she got from having total control over someone else, from pressing them under her thumb and pressing down until nothing was left but something obedient.
It was supposed to be the same song and dance, at least.
She wasn't supposed to start actually liking him.
She supposed it had something to do with her immaturity. She was still a particularly young woman, after all.
She stared at the metro lights in the distance while standing on the terrace of her small apartment. Nights like this always made her feel that that the world was really big and she's just an insignificant being.
Tch. Her chest felt stuffy again.
When warm hands wrapped around her from behind, she was instantly relieved. Reflexively, she buried herself further in his embrace.
"What's in that head of yours again?" His deep voice reverberated beside her ears. His chuckle sent his warm breath.
"Nothing. Can't write anything tonight." She hummed a reply.
The man pulled her closer while softly laughing, "So you also experience the block? You're human after all..."
She let him laugh at her, the sound ringing from his chest to her back. She loved hearing it even though she sometimes didn't get his humor.
Afterwards, a mantle of peaceful silence covered them.
She just basked in the moment, selfishly enjoying this atmosphere. She wished, desperately wished he was the same.
"Stay... for the night," her voice was raw as if any moment, tears will follow.
Like always, his grip around her tightened as though he was never willing to let go or so she'd like to believe he was.
He buried his face on the crook of her neck and lovingly rubbed his nose, "Elle... My Elle..."
His voice broke.
She began to panic, tears chasing one after another down her face while she hurriedly spoke. "T-then take me with you!"
She turned around to see a dark and empty apartment. Her beloved absent, her body cold.
Strength left her knees and she slid down the floor. Gasping for air, she clutched her chest, sobbing uncontrollably... pathetically. There was an unspeakable onslaught of ache, deep and penetrating straight to her soul.
She barely held on to her sanity, choosing to wail soundlessly in the dead of the night. She was thankful for the terrace rails that hid her from the neighbors' view if one was even awake at this hour.
For the nth time, she felt the world collapsing. Her world, at least.
Her shoulders trembled manically, she was breathless. She lifted her head to desperately get some air into her lungs but the sobs won't stop. She was rendered powerless against the grief. She never fought it anyways.
She mouthed his name, afraid that if she tried to speak, she'd end up shouting.
It was too abrupt... so sudden, that was all she thought.
She stayed like that for who knew how long. She just wanted the night to pass. Another night without him.
The wind blew past, seemingly carrying a murmur. A lover's call. A bittersweet promise.
"I'll wait for you."
Through her lashes swimming in tears, Elle looked up. She stared at the moon's silver rays from the terrace of her small apartment. On nights like this, she felt like giving up.
But she knew... he's watching from that place, waiting patiently. It's not yet time to leave.
Celandine stood up from the table,looked Arwen hard in the face. “This was a mistake.” She never should haveaccepted the invitation to sit with them, should have just took her sandwichinto the library like always and gotten some reading done.
She wasn’t meant for friends. They’donly take her attention away from her work.
She grabbed her lunch tray and beganto turn, only for a large, metallic hand to come down on her shoulder. Shelooked back at Onion’s smooth face, wood and metal managing to projectconfusion, even concern.
“He didn’t mean it!” theelf—Caela—said from the other side of the table, her face screaming all sortsof anxiety. “Right Arwen? You didn’t mean it, right?”
It grated on Celandine a little. Allthese people, all their emotions. She had to be so careful with her own words,so generous with theirs. To not see slights where they were obvious.
She pressed her lips together,looked at Caela, then at the dragonborn whose eyes were wide. Guilt? Orsurprise? She stood still and waited.
“I’m sorry?” he offered, and heseemed sincere. She thought. Dragonborn faces were the hardest to read.
“Are you? Are you really.”
“Yeah! I didn’t mean to offend you,I only meant that Boldrei—”
“Arwen.”
“I’m sorry!” the dragonborn yelped,and he threaded his claws together anxiously.
She should just keep going,Celandine thought. Go back to her solitude, screw these people and their pity.But Caela’s eyes pleaded at her, and the warforged, at least, was interesting.When else she going to be in such proximity to be able to ask one all thequestions that boiled on her tongue? And Arwen did, at least, appear sorry forthe slight.
She turned around and sat back down,tilting her chin at them in defiance, daring them to say anything else.
By the time they all got to highschool, she’d be willing to admit, that was probably the best decision she hadever made.
Es va passar tant de temps creient que era una ànima incompresa, mancada de qualsevol mena de bellesa o tret digne d’aprovació, que quan finalment va trobar algú que sabés contemplar-la més enllà de les seves esquerdes, li va semblar que perdia el coneixement i que plorava llàgrimes de felicitat, tot deixant solcs de flors al llarg del seu rostre.
Un mal dia, va notar com si totes les fissures que la conformaven s’esmicolessin i l’esberlessin a ella des de ben endins, i va decidir buscar refugi en els braços d’aquella animeta que ja l’havia entès una vegada. I malgrat que la va cercar, cercar i cercar, amb la seva silueta sempre davant seu, mai la va poder atrapar; era inabastable.
Al final, es va atrevir a emmirallar-se davant d’una superfície clara, i aleshores va poder descobrir qui era realment aquella ànima bessona que sempre li havia tornat la mirada: era ella mateixa. Un altre mirall trencat.
- Roser
(Aquest microrelat parla sobre l’acceptació d'un mateix abans que la dels altres, sobre aprendre a abraçar els nostres defectes, fent-los consumir en flames abans que ells ens consumeixin a nosaltres mateixos.)
Font de la imatge: http://inoyoshi.deviantart.com/art/Crying-flowers-528080505
