@nowiamcomplete asked:
â you would appear to be healing well. â
she turned her head to look at him---habitually, she guessed---but, it wasnât quite that simple. not yet, anyway.
perhaps one day her senses would be so attuned that it wouldnât matter.Â
for now, though---even without her tangible sight, she found it easier to discern her surroundings if she followed what remained of her natural inclinations.Â
the feelings in her blood and bones that hadnât become foreign and conflicted.Â
while she sorted the rest out.Â
â it doesnât hurt. â
that wasnât true, and she didnât flatter herself that she could fool him, but the words leapt from her tongue anyway.
and what she really meant was that she could bear it---she could bear it, and she could take the pain, and she could bend it to her own will.
not the other way around.Â
she dampened her lips---tasting dryness, and the strange energy that coursed through her veins, and she lowered her empty gaze---sinking within herself.
â ---thank you. â
perhaps it didnât merit gratitude---she doubted very much if heâd been looking for it, or had even intended his words as anything more than a factual statement.
but, even so---she was grateful. grateful for the chance---for what heâd taken from her, so that she could aspire to gain something else.
something more. no---not to gain. to become.Â
instinctively, she lifted a hand to brush her fingers across the strip of cloth that covered the wound on her face.Â
â i wonât let you down. you have my word. â
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Better to die on oneâs feet than to live on oneâs knees.
Jean-Paul Sartre
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@vengeanceburns asked:
â this human. he means something to you. â
she looked at him---if sheâd still had eyes, they would have been stormy, and critical. they would have narrowed upon him.
but, even without them---the sharp turn of her head and the tightness of her mouth said enough.Â
â that isnât the point. â
she looked away from him---back to the harbor below, and to the ocean beyond.Â
her voice was guarded, and volatile, and she despised herself for the tension that she could feel quivering beneath whatever remained of her composure.Â
but, she wouldnât let something like that get in her way---not before, and not now.Â
â iâm not needed here. â
there was a harsh, bitter sort of pragmatism in her words, and she swallowed hard---past the dryness in her throat.Â
her hands gripped at the balcony railing. she lifted one and swiped it roughly beneath her nose.Â
â if I go with him, iâll be useful. â
it wasnât that simple---it wasnât even close to being that simple. perhaps too much had happened for it to ever be simple again.
she wasnât lying. she wasnât telling the whole true, either---and she wasnât going to.Â
varian did mean something to her---more than sheâd expected. It was unlikely that anything would come of it---she didnât care.
well---she cared, more than she should have, but---it wasnât going to effect her decision. she wouldâve gone with him anyway.Â
and the irony wasnât lost upon her---that kael should question an attachment of hers, after all of the grief that sheâd given him on the matter.Â
there was a double-edged satisfaction in that. She couldnât help it.Â
she raised her chin against the cold, salt-ridden breeze. tasting it on her teeth.Â
â iâm sure your lady proudmoore would agree that his cause is worthy enough. â
her lips curled with a flicker of disdain, though---for once, she tried to sound indifferent.Â
sheâd always felt guilty about her own behavior---that was part of the reason that sheâd wanted to leave in the first place.
but, now that she was going to leave---she found that her shame, her self-awareness---had only grown.Â
for all the good they were likely to do.Â
she didnât want to talk about where everything had gone wrong between them---her and kael.Â
or, maybe she did want to---and she just didnât know where to begin.Â
it went back too far, and cut too deep. sheâd failed him. heâd failed her.Â
and now---when everything should have been all right, she didnât know how to mend it---most of the time, she didnât even know how to look at him.Â
and she didnât think that he knew how to look at her, either---not without seeing what she had become.Â
what she did know was that she couldnât stay here. even if he resented her for leaving. it was probably the kindest thing she couldâve done for him.Â
here she was restless, and jealous, and always filled with things that she didnât mean to say.Â
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But she could not convey herself to others.
Tanith Lee, from Red as Blood: Tales of the Sisters Grimmer
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@livedbythesword asked:
â heâsââa little bit pathetic. â
she laughed a short, quiet laugh---nearly snorting, and glanced off---eyeing the boy in question for a ponderous moment.Â
the fragile looking boy who was quite a bit more than he appeared---regardless of whether or not he was also---well, pathetic.Â
on that matter, she wasnât entirely sure---though she didnât think that wouldâve been the right word, even if she had been inclined to think less of him.Â
and she wasnât especially inclined to think less of him. heâd chosen to defy the very evil heâd been raised to serve.Â
if that didnât merit some measure of trust, she didnât know what did.Â
â well---thatâs better than posing too much of a threat, right? â
there was a twinge of dry amusement in her voice. she lifted a hand before she could be interrupted.
â no, no---let me guess---he does both. â
she tilted a slender eyebrow in varianâs direction, and then she lowered her attention back to wrathion.Â
he was down in one of the courtyards that overlooked the harbor now---keeping company with prince anduin, as he often did.
that, of course---was what truly drew varianâs disapproval---perhaps even more so than the notion of a black dragon itself.
a slight furrow came to her brow as she watched.Â
â ---for whatever itâs worth, it seems like anduin can take care of himself. â
she didnât imagine that it would be worth a great deal---as she certainly wasnât telling Varian anything that he didnât already know.
if anything, she hesitated to remark too much on anduin---after all, despite his father meaning the world to her, she barely knew him.Â
and heâd been through a hell that---until recently, sheâd regarded as something that changed people beyond recognition.Â
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Sometimes you embrace anger, becauseâŚbecause itâs warm, when all around you turns cold.
Laura Purcell, from The Corset.
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@nowiamcomplete asked:
" actually, i trust most of you. i wouldnât say that lightly. â
â you do---? â
her features were open and questioning, if somewhat caught off guard.Â
they were lying there together. she looked across at him through the near darkness. not that it made any difference to her now, of course.Â
she could see him as clearly in the shadows as she could have beneath the burning skies of this world.Â
and she expected that he could see her even more transparently than she could see him.Â
it wasnât very long before she started to feel a little foolish. she swallowed and lowered her head.Â
â i mean---not that i donât understand. â
well---she believed that she understood, anyway.Â
he wouldnât have bestowed this power, this knowledge---this responsibility, upon someone he thought less than worthy.Â
the work they did here was far too important---and far too dangerous.Â
she hadnât necessarily imagined that meant he trusted them, but---well, she supposed it made sense. besides---heâd said most of them, not all of them.Â
regardless, if she was one of them---then she was honored, and she would do everything that she could to ensure that he never thought differently.Â
â forgive me if I spoke out of turn. i just---donât like the way he looks at you, sometimes. iâm---sure you donât need my help. â
a flicker of warmth stung her features. she bit down on her lower lip.Â
in retrospect, she wished that sheâd never said anything about vandal in the first place---after all, it wasnât as though she didnât believe her own words.Â
there was nothing that she could have possibly conveyed that lord illidan wouldnât have already known.
it just bothered her---and she wanted to be useful, she supposed.
she might have reached out to him then---to remind herself of what they did share.Â
she wanted to, but---once the moment itself had passed, she never felt as though she had the right to anything more.Â
not from him. so instead she watched him, and pondered him---and waited for him to touch her again, if he would. or to speak of something that she could learn from.Â
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You ache. You ache all over. You are aching to be you, but youâre scared of what it means to do so.
Caleb Azumah Nelson, Open Water
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@livedbythesword asked:
â i think anduinâs been writing to him. â
â oh? now that does sound dangerous. â
her tone might had passed for sincere---save for the dry crackle in her throat, and the subtle glint that danced behind her gaze.Â
she feigned a twinge of curiosity---raising a long, slender eyebrow in his direction.Â
which wasnât to say that she harbored no genuine intrigue---she did, of course.
anything that concerned anduin that much would always be a concern to her.Â
it just wasnât quite the sort that hounded Varian day and night. what she would have given to ease his mind---but that would be no menial task.Â
â the quill is mightier than the sword, right? â
one of her eyebrows lifted a touch higher as she posed the question. after all, how could she be expected to resist an opportunity like that?
a faint smile curled over her mouth, twitching coolly along the otherwise quietly amused nuance of her expression.Â
even so---she imagined that it wasnât terribly prudent to give him grief on the matter.
but---then again, taking him too seriously wouldnât have been of much use either.Â
a sigh puffed from between her lips, and she wrinkled her brow at him---turning up her palms in a decidedly unhelpful manner.Â
â hey, donât give me that look. iâm teasing you. â
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I am no more than an animal that
someone has stabbed in the stomach.
Marina Tsvetaeva, trans. by Elaine Feinstein, from Bride of Ice: âPoem of the Endâ
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@vengeanceburns asked:
â youââbit him? â
she didnât look at him. For a moment, she didnât say anything either. she just wanted to sleep and forget that itâd ever happened.Â
finally, when she did speak---her voice was a low, indistinct mutter.Â
â he deserved it. â
she sniffed and dampened her lips---keeping her face buried between her knees, where they were drawn up tightly against her chest.Â
her hair was spilling over her shoulders in unkempt locks and tangles.Â
she wasnât crying now, but she had been crying before---she hated herself for that.Â
the humans had wanted to deal with her themselves---she knew that. prince kaelâthas must have insisted that she be returned to him.
inside, she was grateful---she was very, very grateful, but---thanking him now wouldâve felt like admitting that she couldnât handle herself with those idiot soldiers.Â
it also meant that she had to face someone whose opinion she actually cared about.Â
and that was even worse---because it made her feel ashamed. ashamed for causing trouble, and even more ashamed for getting caught.Â
she hated these humans. she wouldnât have been sorry if all of them got killed.Â
â he grabbed me. i told him that it wasnât his knife and he still grabbed me. â
agitated, she wiped at her cheeks---and then she buried her face again. her voice was cracking, angry, and miserable.
â iâm not lying. â
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" as if something was finally meeting her desire with desire. "
Ada LimĂłn, from The Carrying: Poems.
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@peacecraving asked:
â ask him for me, please? he listens to you. â
there was something casual and yet very genuine about the way heâd said it. in fact, heâd caught her slightly off guard.Â
â woah---hang on a minute. me? â
she blinked and pointed a finger at herself---for emphasis, obviously.Â
if there was one thing sheâd learned about anduin in the relatively short period of time sheâd known him---he had a real knack for turning a conversation in his favor.Â
one second, she thought sheâd been lending a sympathetic ear---the next, she was being recruited.Â
damn.
she cocked a knee where she was leaning against the wall and crossed her arms, tilting a long eyebrow.Â
â no way, kid. he listens to you. â
of course, if anduin had resorted to enlisting her voice on the matter, then heâd probably been shut down already.Â
no doubt varian had been none too pleased by the idea of his wayward son taking a stroll beyond the city walls.Â
â if you canât twist his arm, then itâs definitely a hopeless case. sorry. â
she didnât feel grand about disappointing him---especially not when he was making a face like that, but---then again, his face always looked that way when he was attempting to persuade someone.Â
it was no wonder he usually had decent luck.Â
but, she quite sincerely wasnât coming up with any bad excuses here---if anduin had failed to plead his case, there was no way in hell she was going to have a chance.Â
well---all right. sometimes, perhaps, but---that wasnât the point.Â
besides, though she was no lover of caution and she definitely hated to be a stick in the mud---in this particular case, she was somewhat inclined to agree with his father.
things were getting dangerous out there.Â
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She owns her own hunger.
Anne Sexton, from Love Poems: âThe TouchâÂ
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@livedbythesword asked:
â whatâs that thing on his head? â
â huh? âÂ
she glanced up---genuinely confused for a second or two.Â
her gaze flickered over to where the boy was sitting---near anduin, so---it was no wonder that heâd already managed to draw varianâs ire.
ridiculous as it mightâve sounded at the moment. he must have been getting desperate.Â
and she felt on his behalf. she sincerely did, but---somebody had to keep him in check.Â
â oh, listen to you. â
unimpressed, she slackened back in her seat and folded her arms. then she looked at him and shrugged, puffing out an audible sigh.Â
â i donât know. whatâs that thing on your head? â
there wasnât anything on his head, of course---just a tousled mane of hair.
but, she took advantage of his momentary distraction and gave him a decent clobbering there for good measure.Â
it was difficult to muster up too much sympathy for him when heâd resorted to questioning how the poor child dressed.Â
she made sure to thoroughly ruffle his hair as she withdrew.Â
not that she had the slightest idea what the headpiece was about, but---that was beside the point.Â
she raised long, pale eyebrows at him.Â
â you really think heâs got the secrets of his villainy wrapped up in there---? â
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Iâm alive. Like a woundâ
Clarice Lispector, Ăgua Viva
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@vengeanceburnsâ asked:
â iâmâânot sure that the knife will be necessary. â
her heart sank. she felt caught.Â
instinctively, she drew back a little---searching his face for disapproval. her grip on the blade tightened.
she hadnât meant for him to see it, but---she had also wanted him to, in a way.
â i know how to use it. â
these words came out quickly---defensively. she bit down on her bottom lip.
he must have thought her weak---always following him around, and getting under his feet---she had wanted to prove that she could fight.Â
she stowed the dagger under her traveling cloak---the one heâd given her---and looked up at him.Â
her expression was serious.Â
â anything could happen. â
of course---she was going to regret brandishing the weapon around if he decided to take it away from her---or asked about where sheâd found it.Â
sheâd stolen it from a drunk soldier. not one of their people---obviously. one of the humans.Â
it wasnât true---what sheâd said about knowing how to use it, but---she wasnât afraid to use it.
and she was willing to bet that she could get more done than half of the grand marshalâs grumbling old men.Â
â i should be able to defend myself---and you. â
she knew that she sounded stupid---that he couldâve defended himself and everyone else here before she could even lift a finger.Â
but she wanted to learn. she wanted to get better.Â
if she couldnât use magic, then she would just get good at killing people.Â
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