❛ i’m still hoping it’s you & me in the end . ❜
in which sarah hurts me with pinterest / accepting.
THERE WAS A STRANGER IN HER SKIN. They festered in her filaments and seeped into her sinew – a revolution in her bones she had not noticed ‘till the stranger waged war on her soul. No matter how many times she steeped herself between Eulmore’s scented waters and washed the salt stains from her skin she could feel that shift in her; a strange awareness of self, completely separate to the disassociations that had possessed the better part of half her life.
YOU ARE ALIVE. Those were the only three words this stranger spoke, reiterating a truth over and over again despite ( or, perhaps, she’d considered dully, in spite ) of her ideation towards the realm of nothing. She’d looked into the open jaws of death more times than she could count, screamed as they tore chunks of flesh away from her, and wrenched her self back from the brink bleeding and battered. Always the same orbit of ruin; the call of the void; the endless, all consuming want for sleep. She’d known it since she was a girl – when it set up shop in her broken home, lay waste to her bruised body and sold its wares in her mind. But now it was... quiet.
NOT GONE. NOT COMPLETELY. She could not consider herself so lucky. But in the twists of wet red hair that pulled water from the strands, it was enough for her to feel foreign. There was a stillness in the aftermath of Amaurot – after the joy, the celebrations and the mirth – it was quiet. Now it was up to the people to decide their fate, and the sudden end to generations of trauma could would not mend in a day.
SHE OF ALL PEOPLE KNEW THIS BETTER THAN MOST.
If you could take another step, would you? I don’t want too, but I could. I don’t want to have regrets. No more than I, but I have many. We could stop if you wanted. Always sentimental. No we can’t.
FOR HER. ALWAYS FOR HER. It was in her nature to live for other people. First it had been her sister; misguided lamb to the jaws of death, not even the wolf could protect. Like atlas, she bore that burden still. Second it had been for her friends. She could not save them all. For her. She never expected her to fall. Even light aspected – skin cracked like porcelain, holiness in the veins – if anything, she would fall and Beau would prevail.
INDULGE ME, she asked, and Kor did not deny. There was nothing for them to lose. Beau held her, not unlike the thousands of times before that ( intentional or otherwise; sought or given ) and kissed her sweetly. Even now, the memory of it was a hurricane in her mind. In their vulnerability the stranger slipped inside her skin. The sudden occurrence that, perhaps in some small way, she did not want to die. She broke. She cried. But she was cradled, she was respected and she was loved. No matter her flaws, her errors or her spite. For her.
❝I’M STILL HOPING IT’S YOU AND ME IN THE END.❞ Always. Even in the turbulence. Even if she could not predict their futures or their trials. They were fated, were they not? Even beneath the waves. Even in the sunken city.
SILENT FOOTFALLS WERE NO HERALD, but her arrival was met all the same. Bereft of armour she was exposed; in her exposure were her vulnerabilities. But to watch the way Beau’s face lit up, even mildly, was another attack by the stranger on her self. She reached for her, allowed herself to be pulled into her stronger where she felt small but also so incredibly safe.
❝I AM HERE,❞ the gesture seemed to say. ❝I love you. I am here. I am alive.❞