queen-of-the-willows

[queen-of-the-willows]

Days 3 & 4: Sleep & Vessel

Do not seek the elder spirits.

Their promises are sweet, passions running strong. They nestle deep within the woods, demanding the farthest treks for their attention. Invisible to the naked eye, they beckon from dead roots and dried bones. Formless vagabonds until a deal is struck. They patiently await the lonely, the angry, the weak, the desperate. They give their infinite kindness, in exchange for a finite vessel. They make homes out of their bargainers, ceaselessly clinging and endlessly caring to and for his every need. Every ailment cured, every misfortune reversed, every mistake corrected. They are eternal guardians, and powerful leeches. They cower behind thickets and bundles of flesh; bare their gifts and hide their malice, every seeker wasting away the second he is embraced. They ease the mind of their host until nothing is left of it. Loving, comforting him into a gentle sleep. They hide, they feed long after he is gone. Until his body grows feeble. Until his bones return to the earth.

Do not seek the elder spirits.

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A little late, but it’s here as promised.

Now, if I can just make every prompt into (loosely) horror-based flash-fiction framed like a monologue warning no one in particular and with no connection what-so-ever, I might do pretty well this month!

#The Willow Writes

[queen-of-the-willows]

Don’t worry!

I haven’t quit early, I just wasn’t able to get to today’s prompt. I’ll be combining both day 3 and 4 for tomorrow.

[queen-of-the-willows]

Day 2: Dream

She never slept so soundly…

Until a welcome face invited her into her dreams. Until those tonics became a barrier against lurking shadows, and a door for her beloved. Reality slipped away at a bottle’s notice, giving way to meadows and ballrooms. Limitless worlds that she could only imagine, and a caring lover that she could only remember when the sun chased them both away. No night was entirely new, but something different in a long list of ways to spend it. A chat under fake stars, a walk through an endless forest, or time spent simply, spent in each other’s arms and drifting in a perpetual void. Dreams replaced her nightmares, every night a reminder of love. She no longer feared sleepless hours and waking nightmares. Instead, every night, she feared she’d never want to wake again.

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Hello! It’s been a long time, but I’ve finally used this blog again. I’ve been in a rut for so long, I decided to do something in reference to NaNoWriMo and (attempt to) write alongside a list of prompts for the month. A thank you to @crassussativum for the list!

(Also I was busy yesterday and that’s why I’m starting on the second day. Hopefully I’ll be able to make up and do the first day tomorrow or at some other point).

Wish me luck!

#The Willow Writes #good evening #november's prompts #day 2

[queen-of-the-willows]

Love never existed in words or cards or flowers. She delighted in the devotion shining through them, but found them cold and empty when she tried to swallow them whole.

Love was the flesh between her teeth, and kindness in the bones she snapped under her feet. Beauty was in the pleas they screamed, and empathy was when she screamed with them.

Corpses can’t speak, but the taste stayed with her forever. That was more than any “I love you” could give.

————-

Been blocked this entire week, but for some reason, I keep thinking about cannibalism. Probably has something to do with vampires.

I’ve heard that you shouldn’t be afraid to post something unfinished (or was it that I shouldn’t feel bad about having unfinished things I’ve never posted?), so here are some lines that I put together but couldn’t put in a short story. May be developed later.

#for the timezone

[queen-of-the-willows]

Love never existed in words or cards or flowers. She delighted in the devotion shining through them, but found them cold and empty when she tried to swallow them whole.

Love was the flesh between her teeth, and kindness in the bones she snapped under her feet. Beauty was in the pleas they screamed, and empathy was when she screamed with them.

Corpses can't speak, but the taste stayed with her forever. That was more than any "I love you" could give.

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Been blocked this entire week, but for some reason, I keep thinking about cannibalism. Probably has something to do with vampires.

I’ve heard that you shouldn’t be afraid to post something unfinished (or was it that I shouldn’t feel bad about having unfinished things I’ve never posted?), so here are some lines that I put together but couldn’t put in a short story. May be developed later.

#The Willow Writes #baby steps i guess

[queen-of-the-willows]

Reblog if you’re a writeblr looking for a new follower!

I’m going to be holed up at home for the next couple of months due to coronavirus, and I’m sure a lot of you guys are in the same situation–so I’ll be following any writeblr that comments on/reblogs this post!

About me: I am writing a YA fantasy trilogy called “The Novan Chronicles,” featuring different races of supernatural humans embroiled in a millennia-long war with each other. My first book, The Sentry, has already been published, and Book 2 is going to be coming out very soon! You can read more about my writing here if you’re interested :)

[queen-of-the-willows]

Frosty the Snow Lesbian

So, this little snippet was supposed to be a wholesome, short thing. Then it turned kinda flirtatious(?), hence the title. Not sure what happened.

Honestly, I don’t really like how this turned out. But it’s technically the first thing I’ve written in a while, so I’m happy to just get it out and share it.

“Lost, little traveler?”

The voice distracts her from the chill, even though it sounds just as cold. Amidst the snow, it’s hard to spot: the source, perched on a boulder. A feminine body dressed in a white coat sits still and poised. At first glance, the stranger seems like nobility. But when she looks up, very, very inhuman eyes stare back, shining brighter than the snow itself. A silver iris and slitted pupils to match, all laden in an orange pool, watch her. Like the creature’s voice—like its smile—those eyes are not kind. They’re that of a monster. A predator who has spotted its prey. Something inside her tugs and tightens. An intrinsic instinct that burns within her.  It compels her to run. This frost-bitten forest hasn’t shown her any reprieve, and she doubts this creature is any kind of savior.

“Scared already? I haven’t done anything yet.”

Yet. But she stays still under the creature’s glare, as if the cold has her frozen solid. When she finally flinches back, it tenses. Leans towards her. Clawed fingers peak out of its sleeves. If she runs, she knows, it’ll chase. And prey exhausted and chilled to the bone is an easy catch for any monster. She is at the mercy of the cold and this… thing. “Who are you?” Her voice shakes more than she wants it to. The creature eats it up. Its smile grows. Sharpens like its claws.

“A resident of this forest,” it says. “And your guide, if you like.”

“I somehow doubt you would lead me anywhere safe.”

“Would you rather stay here? Freeze to death in the middle of nowhere?” It chuckles, then points a little past her head. “Or maybe you’ll get lucky, and a beast will find you without your toys, defenseless, and eat you whole.” That burning sensation swells with its taunts. Its laughter. But it’s right—she is defenseless. Her hand flinches, desperate to grab a sword that is no longer there. Even if it was—if her sheath did more than collect snow now—she wonders how useful such a “toy” would be. In her state, no weapon could save her from being little more than food to play with.

“A beast has already found me.”

“A beast worse than I, then. I have yet to harm you.”

Because I have yet to run. It’s eager to play cat and mouse. Maybe prey that won’t run will intrigue it. Bore it, even. Anything to wane its interest in a hunt. Depriving it of that satisfaction may just save her life.

“If you recall,” it continues, “I even offered you aid.” It drops from its seat on the rock. She tenses, and it does so in kind. “Unless you’re truly keen on freezing to death, are you in any position to refuse?”

“If that is a fate better than whatever you’d do to me, I am.” It chuckles again. With just a few steps, it stands over her. One hand tilts up her chin, while the other holds her wrist.

“Then I’ll be sure to show you a better time, little traveler.”

For a creature so cold—for a home covered in frost—its embrace is warm. A break from the chill is the first reprieve she gets when this close to the creature.

#The Willow Writes #g'morning g'morning

[queen-of-the-willows]

“What,” she gasps, “the hell is happening to me?”

Her voice stings in her throat; the potions she’s been forced to drink, the burning incantations she’s recited, render her all but speechless. Singed runes summon burns on her skin, real and ghost pains alike aching with each move. She pulls on her chains when she speaks nonetheless, fighting against them as much as she can. But nothing bothers her captor. He simply stares down at her, his silence her answer for a moment.

“We’re making progress,” he finally says. “The Priests’ experiments seem to be paying off.”

“Did my screams tell you that?” Mockery drips from her voice. Progress. For them, of course that means having her suffer. Hurting a witch is the Sect’s favorite pastime, with watching them writhe adding to the flavor. But this isn’t just for passing time. If they wanted to entertain themselves, they would have tried breaking her. Start with her hands, or her legs, maybe even remove them completely. But they’ve left her whole. Battered still, but whole. Well enough to serve this sick trick they’ve cooked up now.

A condition… to think they’d stoop so low.

The Disciple—her torturer in training—slips back into silence. He’s as blank as the rest of his kind, stiff and obedient. It’s a wonder he spoke to her—those as low as him are hardly allowed to with prisoners like her. He moves closer to study her, awfully brave for a boy staring down a witch. Like a rabbit observing an injured wolf, safe in the knowledge that it’s too slow to hurt it. She bristles under his gaze, flexing against her chains as if they’ll give away if she tries hard enough. If anything, their clasp seems to grow tighter around her wrist as the Disciple kneels in front of her. He grabs her cheek, pressing against a rune engraved under her eye. She tenses at his touch, even more as he speaks a familiar enchantment. The runes—her skin itself—flares with a burning magic, and she screams as fire bursts from her arms. Unnaturally hot, almost white as it crackles with an unholy amount of energy. She sucks in her breath when it’s over, her teeth tearing through her lip to keep her screams at bay.

“The condition they’ve placed has developed well,” she hears Disciple say. She keeps her gaze steady on the floor, blinking back the tears welling in her eyes. “Each rune is reacting to their commands-“

“Stop beating around the bush and call it what it is.” Her voice is lower, raspier than before, each word sparking a soreness in her throat. “You—your Priests, they’ve hexed me.” It’s almost impossible to believe now, as it was when she first discovered their plan. Each rune is to bind her magic to them, have her power under their command. A dark, twisted craft that not even the worst witch would touch.

“No, we didn’t,” Disciple argues. “We simply conditioned you to a command, one that your magic alone reacted to-“

"That’s what a hex is, Disciple.” His test has left her exhausted, and she can barely speak above him, if at all. She slumps back down, against the wall and against her chains. “You and your Sect have really lowered yourselves, haven’t you?”

“Rich,” he says, “coming from a dark artist.”

“Rich,” she spits back, “coming from a man claiming to be a follower of light, before turning to the darkest art there is.”

#The Willow Writes #henlo

[queen-of-the-willows]

“What is this… dear God, what did you do?”

           The Boss lies—hangs, rather—on the wall, bloodied, beaten, and motionless. Almost crucified, the way nails bind her wrists, like a painting strung in a gallery. But her arms are pinned high above her head, her hands stuck together. Gashes line her face, her chest, her clothes, all caked in blood. Amelia sees the pins against her legs as she approaches, nearly gagging at the sight of flayed skin. This… this can’t be real. This can’t her doing. Whatever she’s done in her past could never match up to something like this. She needs to find her. Find her, and talk, and—

           “You shouldn’t be in a place like this, hero.” She whips around at the sound of her voice, eyes instantly searching for answers to her thousands of questions. On the other side of the room, the girl only watches, waiting. “Vaga…” Her name comes slowly, softly, as does Amelia’s approach. “What happened here?” Vaga doesn’t move, her hands behind her back. As if she’s in service. As if this is some sort of job. “I freed myself,” she says.

           ‘Freed…” Amelia’s blood runs cold. All this time, she had a feeling. A feeling she knew who Vaga was serving, who pulled the strings. Who put her through so much pain. But this… she couldn’t have possibly predicted this.

           “What do you mean?” She forces a firmness into her voice, taking a step forward once more. “You’re saying you, you did this?” The words stammer out, legs shaking as she presses on. Vaga stands perfectly still, eyes as dead as what hangs near them. Often so full of fear, now she doesn’t recognize those eyes.

           “I did.”

           “Why?”

           There’s an edge at the end of Amelia’s voice that sparks something in her—fear, concern, maybe even tears. Vaga’s gaze grows unsteady, but quickly centers itself once again.

           “What do you mean, ‘why?’” she asks. Demands, really. “Because I had to.”

            Amelia points to the body behind her. “You… you didn’t have to do this. This… this is…” Her arm drops to her side. She shakes her head, at a loss for words. She’s to blame for this, she’s sure of it. She didn’t get here fast enough, she didn’t stop Vaga in time. But to go so far, even if she did reach her, could she have stopped this?

           “This isn’t you.” Her whisper doesn’t carry far, almost too to hear. But Vaga does, and her eyes, her face darken in return.

           “Isn’t me?” She spits her own words back at her, stepping back into the distance Amelia had closed. “What do you know about me? Hell, what do I know?” She throws her hand towards the wall, malice flaring inside her. “I don’t know who—I don’t know what I am anymore! And it’s because of her!” Amelia tries to come closer, but she only backs away once more. “She fucked with my head over, and over, and over, again, and again, and again! I barely escaped. I don’t even know how many times…” She shakes her head, hands trembling in a rage she can’t control anymore. But it isn’t just anger shaking her. Amelia sees something else, something that she’s been wracked with ever since the two first met.

            That fear’s never left her.

           “She wanted me to kill you…” Vaga’s voice lightens, dims in the confession. “She told me you were the one who did this to me. She said you were trying to control me, she said she saved me from you.” She lowers her head. Shame etches every corner of her. “She told me I wanted you dead. And I believed her.”

           Amelia watches her. She watches her crumble at the memories, at the torture that monster put her through. Vaga’s nails rake through bruised hands, her teeth biting cuts into her lip. She watches, at a loss once again, until she can’t bear the sight any longer.

           “Vaga.” Her voice softens, hiding all her fears beneath. “It’s alright. It’s not your fault.” And she means that. This… this is a mess, one she couldn’t help being swept into. The Boss was after her, and her alone. It’s not Vaga’s fault she decided to pick up a pawn on the way. It’s not her fault she failed to save her, regardless of her past. “Everything just... went too far. That isn’t your fault. But you need to come with me.”

           Vaga’s eyes snap back at her. Something jaded settles in them. “To where? Where would you take me?” She puts up her hands. Stay calm, she prays to her. “I’m not turning you in, I promise.” Even if it was a monster, murder is still an offense. And on top of the other crimes Vaga sits on… she never killed before this, but she wouldn’t be safer with any authorities.

           “But you have to hide. I can help you—”

           “I can’t.”

           “Yes, you can—”

           “No,” Vaga all but shouts, “you don’t understand.” She backs away further, almost bracing for what her next words will bring. “I can’t go anywhere. The… that monster had friends. People who wanted to use me as much as she did.” She clenches her fist, swallowing down the tremble in her voice. Amelia’s eyes widen in horror, in her realization.

           “No.”

           “They all knew what was happening to me, what she was doing to me.”

           “I know, I know that, but you can’t…”

           “I won’t let them go.”

           “You can’t do this. Please, just come with me—”

           “This is all their fault. I can’t let any of them just get away—”

           “This isn’t the way!” Amelia’s voice booms, echoing in the vacancy. She didn’t mean to shout, she didn’t. But seeing this, seeing Vaga sink so low… it’s too much. She already let her slip once, left her without guidance. The least she can do is give her this. Save her from slipping any further.

           “Please…” she rasps out. “Please don’t do this.” A hush settles over them for a moment, Vaga frozen in the outburst. She seems to war with herself, something Amelia saw her do often. She never hoped for her to see her side quite this much.

           “I have to,” she finally says. “I can still feel her. In my head. Clawing at me…” She holds herself, hands wrapped tightly around her arms. “I need to cut her out. Cut all of them out, I… I won’t be able to take it if I don’t.”

           Amelia slumps in defeat, shaking her head at a lost battle. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I can’t let you.”

           Vaga nods, knowing what she’s done. Knowing that with this battle over, she’s going to have to ignite a war.

           “I’m sorry too,” she says, a dangerous dip in her tone. “But you can’t fucking stop me.”

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Another thing only loosely based on the prompt. Though I wrote this around the time I wrote the other one and only recently decided to share it. Hope you guys like it.

Prompt #1697

“You’re supposed to hate them,” the supervillain tutted as they strapped the dazed villain to the table. “Honestly, you keep giving villainy a bad name with all your moping and pining and puppy dog eyes. I’m going to have to keep mindwiping you until you get it right.”

“N-no…”

“Trust me, sweetheart, this is what’s best for all of us. Maybe I’ll bring you back as my partner in crime this time, or my sidekick. I’m definitely going to tell you that it was [hero] that wiped your mind, that kept you behaving properly for months last time around. Now, hold still.”

#The Willow Writes

[queen-of-the-willows]

must.............

#write................................

[queen-of-the-willows]

dream: to be a big enough blog that reblogging someone really helps out their notes and follower count

#i just want you to know you've helped me out!!!!

[queen-of-the-willows]

Thank you so much!

“Who hurt you?”

The villain pauses, they’re eyes leveled at the ground, at their weapons that feel so much heavier now. Their answer comes in ragged breaths, in stillness and a bitten tongue. Don’t speak, instinct screams at them. Get up and fight. But they can’t move. Helpless and on their knees, they’re paralyzed under the hero’s question, under a burning gaze that they can’t see but feel instead. The sting somehow hurts worse than any fight they’ve ever had.

“Answer me. Who did this to you?” Silence hangs between them. What can they say? Words are so often their best weapon, and now? It’s a sword held against their neck, a gun aimed at their skull. Ready and waiting for them to pull the trigger. A clever tongue won’t pull them out of this, only ignorance and force will.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.“

Footsteps come in the silence. The villain lifts their head just in time for the hero to cup it in their hands. It’s the first time their eyes truly meet out here, and the villain sees enough concern, enough pain in them to make them sick. Those eyes will get them killed. Ghost pains flare up at their touch, in their gaze. They warn them of what will happen if the hero walks away, if they let those eyes weaken the villain yet again.

“This isn’t you,” the hero says. “Why are you fighting like this?”

Don’t tell them. They muster the best smirk they can, laughing in the hero’s face, laughing to spite the pain in their chest. They can’t help you. “I’m a villain, in case you forgot. This is kinda what I do.”

“But not like this…” The hero’s hand sweeps their shoulder, their arms, and stops to caress their hand. Their smirk vanishes instantly. “I can see these things, you know. In case you forgot.” A smile breaks through, small and sad, but almost strong enough to break through the villain’s defenses. They haven’t forgotten at all. No matter what they put up, no matter what they cover themselves with, the hero can see right through them. Feel what they feel, know the pain that they do. Their naked under those eyes. “These scars… I didn’t put them there. You haven’t fought another hero in ages. Someone’s been hurting you. All I need to know is who, and why.”

They speak with so much care, too much for a hero addressing their villain, so much so that the villain has to bite against the answer. They pull themselves from the hero’s gentle grasp, sinking into themselves. “I… can’t tell you,” they stammer out. They’re already so weak. The least they can do is resist this. Resist giving what is supposed to be the enemy answers. “I can’t…” The hero brings them closer, their words muffled in their embrace. They don’t fight back, their arms falling as useless as their weapons on the ground.

“Alright,” the hero says. “You don’t have to. I’ll find a way to help. It’s time I return all those favors, right?”

Bit by bit, they seem to crumble after that.

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So I was supposed to be writing something else, then I saw these two prompts and just had to get stuck on them for the rest of the day…

Shoutout to @gingerly-writing and thank you for the inspiration!

Should I still keep a tag list…?

#i just woke up and seeing this has already made my day #i #need to eat

[queen-of-the-willows]

since wordpress has bought tumblr is it safe to start posting my writing again?

[queen-of-the-willows]

Thank you!

“Who hurt you?”

The villain pauses, they’re eyes leveled at the ground, at their weapons that feel so much heavier now. Their answer comes in ragged breaths, in stillness and a bitten tongue. Don’t speak, instinct screams at them. Get up and fight. But they can’t move. Helpless and on their knees, they’re paralyzed under the hero’s question, under a burning gaze that they can’t see but feel instead. The sting somehow hurts worse than any fight they’ve ever had.

“Answer me. Who did this to you?” Silence hangs between them. What can they say? Words are so often their best weapon, and now? It’s a sword held against their neck, a gun aimed at their skull. Ready and waiting for them to pull the trigger. A clever tongue won’t pull them out of this, only ignorance and force will.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.“

Footsteps come in the silence. The villain lifts their head just in time for the hero to cup it in their hands. It’s the first time their eyes truly meet out here, and the villain sees enough concern, enough pain in them to make them sick. Those eyes will get them killed. Ghost pains flare up at their touch, in their gaze. They warn them of what will happen if the hero walks away, if they let those eyes weaken the villain yet again.

“This isn’t you,” the hero says. “Why are you fighting like this?”

Don’t tell them. They muster the best smirk they can, laughing in the hero’s face, laughing to spite the pain in their chest. They can’t help you. “I’m a villain, in case you forgot. This is kinda what I do.”

“But not like this…” The hero’s hand sweeps their shoulder, their arms, and stops to caress their hand. Their smirk vanishes instantly. “I can see these things, you know. In case you forgot.” A smile breaks through, small and sad, but almost strong enough to break through the villain’s defenses. They haven’t forgotten at all. No matter what they put up, no matter what they cover themselves with, the hero can see right through them. Feel what they feel, know the pain that they do. Their naked under those eyes. “These scars… I didn’t put them there. You haven’t fought another hero in ages. Someone’s been hurting you. All I need to know is who, and why.”

They speak with so much care, too much for a hero addressing their villain, so much so that the villain has to bite against the answer. They pull themselves from the hero’s gentle grasp, sinking into themselves. “I… can’t tell you,” they stammer out. They’re already so weak. The least they can do is resist this. Resist giving what is supposed to be the enemy answers. “I can’t…” The hero brings them closer, their words muffled in their embrace. They don’t fight back, their arms falling as useless as their weapons on the ground.

“Alright,” the hero says. “You don’t have to. I’ll find a way to help. It’s time I return all those favors, right?”

Bit by bit, they seem to crumble after that.

———————————————————————————————————–

So I was supposed to be writing something else, then I saw these two prompts and just had to get stuck on them for the rest of the day…

Shoutout to @gingerly-writing and thank you for the inspiration!

Should I still keep a tag list…?

[queen-of-the-willows]

“Who hurt you?”

The villain pauses, their eyes leveled at the ground, at their weapons that feel so much heavier now. Their answer comes in ragged breaths, in stillness and a bitten tongue. Don’t speak, instinct screams at them. Get up and fight. But they can’t move. Helpless and on their knees, they’re paralyzed under the hero’s question, under a burning gaze that they can’t see but feel instead. The sting somehow hurts worse than any fight they’ve ever had.

“Answer me. Who did this to you?” Silence hangs between them. What can they say? Words are so often their best weapon, and now? It’s a sword held against their neck, a gun aimed at their skull. Ready and waiting for them to pull the trigger. A clever tongue won’t pull them out of this, only ignorance and force will.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.“

Footsteps come in the silence. The villain lifts their head just in time for the hero to cup it in their hands. It’s the first time their eyes truly meet out here, and the villain sees enough concern, enough pain in them to make them sick. Those eyes will get them killed. Ghost pains flare up at their touch, in their gaze. They warn them of what will happen if the hero walks away, if they let those eyes weaken the villain yet again.

“This isn’t you,” the hero says. “Why are you fighting like this?”

Don’t tell them. They muster the best smirk they can, laughing in the hero’s face, laughing to spite the pain in their chest. They can’t help you. “I’m a villain, in case you forgot. This is kinda what I do.”

“But not like this…” The hero’s hand sweeps their shoulder, their arms, and stops to caress their hand. Their smirk vanishes instantly. “I can see these things, you know. In case you forgot.” A smile breaks through, small and sad, but almost strong enough to break through the villain’s defenses. They haven’t forgotten at all. No matter what they put up, no matter what they cover themselves with, the hero can see right through them. Feel what they feel, know the pain that they do. Their naked under those eyes. “These scars… I didn’t put them there. You haven’t fought another hero in ages. Someone’s been hurting you. All I need to know is who, and why.”

They speak with so much care, too much for a hero addressing their villain, so much so that the villain has to bite against the answer. They pull themselves from the hero’s gentle grasp, sinking into themselves. “I… can’t tell you,” they stammer out. They’re already so weak. The least they can do is resist this. Resist giving what is supposed to be the enemy answers. “I can’t…” The hero brings them closer, their words muffled in their embrace. They don’t fight back, their arms falling as useless as their weapons on the ground.

“Alright,” the hero says. “You don’t have to. I’ll find a way to help. It’s time I return all those favors, right?”

Bit by bit, they seem to crumble after that.

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So I was supposed to be writing something else, then I saw these two prompts and just had to get stuck on them for the rest of the day...

Shoutout to @gingerly-writing and thank you for the inspiration!

Should I still keep a tag list...?

#The Willow Writes #hi I'm alive #How are you guys #mine #my short stories

[queen-of-the-willows]

I have been told to focus less on vampires and more on dragons

[queen-of-the-willows]

Thank you!

Once more, with feeling

Tragedy shakes in the glow of his smile, the light in his eyes. She watches his hands, bloodied and bruised, rebuild what he lost to her. She sees hope replace his losses, peace replace her destruction. Love grows in the heart of what little he’s fixed, a fondness that will give him strength. He won’t need her anymore, she knows that. She knows that it’s time to move on, just as he has from her. She stands in the ruins he’s left untouched, knowing he’ll reach them one day. Refine them just as he has everything else. Maybe she’ll miss him, but as she leaves what’s left of her presence, she prays they never see each other again.