𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰 & 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞! / / @wovespells
VOICE SOLEMN, full of concern, it ushers the roll of one’s crimson hues & forces one to break a smile, even if artificial & ultimately repulsive ; sure to induce problematic, oversensitive cries sooner than later.
what was there to feel ? a broken fragment can think of a handful of things, can feel years of overwhelming guilt & regret soak redemption glazed lungs, block one’s throat with fear induced hesitation, can feel those same nightmares that haunted sleepless, insomniac eve’s within a vessel you painstakingly were forced to call home.
you were forced to live through the mistakes you made & the misery that came with them, surely, a master wouldn’t find it easy to understand, wouldn’t even attempt to. so what was the point of even trying ?
besides, it was easier to fake a smile & force yourself through the tears you drowned your insecurities in, waves upon waves ultimately washing over salvation once so craved upon, now buried deep among celestial gazed earth.
❝ you’re asking me….why ? ❞
a fist, curled upon one’s side in a way to repress an out burst of anger & hatred, but not for the other, no, for oneself, for a tragic boy that didn’t want to feel red bubble up from his stomach, didn’t want to feel summer graced wind tickle his skin or the warmth of golden rays upon youth. he didn’t want to feel. he didn’t want anything.
oh, but he did want something.
one would consider vanitas lucky, lucky that redemption was merely handed to him, that a home was given to tainted hands & shelter was everlong. but that was just the thing, he didn’t want this, didn’t ask for this ; vanitas wanted to be dead, quite frankly. wanted nobody to weep or mourn for him, wanted darkness to fully engulf him until he was a distant, bitter memory to those he so tortured with empty threats & glares that could kill.
one wanted to throw a pellucid & crystalline halo to the floor, for it was too askew & horns didn’t seem to hold it up that well, contrary to popular belief. no, it let it hang sometimes, let the world see that it was a fake and you’d truly never fit into it, for it was never meant for you, never meant for a monstrosity to wear.
❝ is that what you’re here to do ? to strike me while i’m down ? that’s so very out of your character, master. ❞
venom was laced into words, woven into them with every syllable he so spits out. it was just what they wanted, right ? to throw their petty reasoning back in one’s face, tell him ‘i told you so’ & pretend to care for one with a facade you so effortlessly changed once out of view ; or at least that’s what vanitas thought of the three.
a laugh, somewhat patronizing passes through him as he turns his back to the other, lets crimson gaze find home in the nearest thing he could find, funnily enough it was a destiny that one craved for himself, so much that the very sight of a grave adorned with blooms & wayfinders has his skin crawling, has blood boiling within the confinement of veins against pale skin.
‘ this is all i yearn, why don’t you give it to me? ’
❝ i think you already know how i feel. ❞
