#saintfights

[saintplanet-old]

It is a soft morning.    Sunkissed,  light pouring in from the grand windows into the chambers.   Lucilla still sleep,  she can hear the stillness.  There are no voices,   no grand dinners,   no wars today.   Her father is to return to a quiet morning after his meeting in the palace,   away from the wars of Rome   —   back into the arms of the family that seeks peace from the parade of theatrics within the forum.   Seraphina’s white linen nightgown clings to her skin as she leans against the window,   watching for the sound.   Her mother could sleep through it  —  stories told of years she’s spent away from him,   stories told of the turmoil  —  her mother,  Seraphina muses,   could sleep through war itself and wake up unscathed.   Honey brown eyes snap to the sound of hooves,   the familiar clatter of the general’s favorite white stallion,   the same white mane she would run her hands through in her youth.   

𝐀 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐘.    so distant now its more dreamline,   the edges hazy & torn.  whispers turned to shouts,   blood spilled on white marble,   golden gates crushed under the wave of soldiers,   a rampage — a murder.   a young girl clinging to a maid before she’s cut down,  eyes wide in fear until the soldier hesitates.      what is the death of a child to rome?    but acacius is a good man.  he always has been.  the arms of a soldier that decides that he will not kill the last living blood of a once king.   years long past,  but seraphina has learned not to forget   (nor forgive)  what rome has done to her.   

Slipping past the guards stationed at the estate,   past the statues and fountains her mother busies herself with,   Seraphina is determined to be the first face her father sees —  already welcoming him as she sees him step off the chariot,  adorned in roses and honors from his visit to the forum.   Her eyes memorize his different features,  the slightest greying of his hair,   a cut across his shoulder,   the newest wrinkle adorning his aging face.   The great general of Rome — back home.    ❛    —     Welcome   back   father.  ❜      Her hands find his first,   gripping tightly,   as though he is still the man from the dream  —  about the disappear if she loosens her grip.  ❛ You’re late.  Mother expected you last night and then gave up on you.   I didn’t of course.   ❜ 

@saintfights

[saintplanet-old]

The hall spun with too much gold, too much noise, too many eyes. She finds him near the balcony, half-lit by the dying sun, a shadow carved just for Chae. Tristan didn’t move as she approaches, the green dress hugging her in the wind as she watches him tilt his head the smallest bit, like he already knows what she's come to say. Like he always knew. ❛ You’re quiet, ❜ She teases, trying to laugh, but it cracked apart halfway through. His eyes [ gods, his eyes ] they looked at her like she was already gone. ❛ I don’t care if it’s wrong. I needed to see you. ❜ The music swelled behind them, a thousand violins to mourn what they could never have. ❛ You treat me like a stranger. That's not fair. ❜ @saintfights

[goldenzel]

☀︎ a morning in rome.

she had never seen armor shine as the gods had dipped it in firelight and crowned the man within as their champion. the great general acacius : the lion of rome. the kind of figure they whispered about in the gardens when they thought no one was listening, but rapunzel had listened. she knew the stories, read the reports, and now she stood in his presence, sandals brushing the edge of the mosaic floor, hands folded politely before her, trying not to seem too small, too curious, too enchanted by the weight of legend wrapped in bronze and command. he greeted her with a respectful nod, as clarissa’s friend, as if she were just another courtly petal caught in the wind of rome’s affairs. but rapunzel saw him, saw the little ways the general seemed weary. the way he carried the room, even in silence. [ as if the weight of the wars were somehow heavier now. ] she bowed gently, the way clarissa had taught her, but with a spark of her own wonder. “it’s an honor, general,” she says, her voice airy but warm. “i’ve read about your victories, but i think the stories forgot to mention how tall you are.” a beat of quiet. “or how much quieter everything gets when you walk into a room.” | @saintfights

[darkmeld]

the shadow academy was in the forefront of her memory. it was a terrible thought, a dreadful time, a time of agony. she remembers the final challenge - the hologram of battling darth vader and even though it was fake, it felt ever so real. just for the darkness to fade and see the true opponent.

it was jacen.

this always haunted her. even after all these years, there was no escaping this gnawing feeling that they were destined for destruction. the two demolishing one another felt inevitable. one way or another, a twin would fall at the hand of the other. jaina just refused to accept this predestined destiny.

" do you ever think about it? " the shadow academy was at the forefront of her brain lately. it was haunting her more than usual. a nightmare she simply could not escape. " about why they made us fight? "

@saintfights : for jacen.