she/her
thirty-nine
january nineteenth
sootopolis
lesbian
n/a
civilian
i used to dream in the dark of palisades park.
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sariel duong
the prophet and the sheep
POSTED ON Jul 3, 2024 23:46:35 GMT
the priestess, in her temporary flight, had been pulled back down to earth. sariel rips into her pearlescent wings, staining the white feathers with blood. now unable to reach the heavens, it was as much a blessing as it was curse, forced to walk the earth with her savior. no longer allowed to leave.
sariel had stumbled back when the priestess had fallen back to her, bracing her own body so that she would not land too roughly. and so they sit on the floor amongst the colored glass, her palm distantly aching as she slowly lets go of the dress, her wings. a reminder of mortality and its brief limits—what was and could have just been, if she had let her rage control her.
sariel's eyebrows knit together, her thoughts fragmented, only loosely tied together by the will to understand. in the heady silence and her own heavy breathing, the priestess's laughter is starkly different, reminiscent of glass chimes and summer haze. did she not consider how close she had been to death?
no, sariel thinks. the priestess was most certainly aware. only, she did not see the boundaries that separated life and death. to her it was one and the same. the gods had already set their fate, and she, out of anyone in the world, would have the most utmost faith.
and yet, here the priestess asks her, what do you want from her?
it was a question not often asked to the likes of sariel duong. she was a mother, a refugee. she was a small blip in the fabric of time and space.
she was nothing.
but the priestess was asking.
she cannot bring herself to say her name; she has not said it out loud in three years. everything about that time still haunted her; the priestess's name was a relic of the past, as was my-hoa. but only, the priestess was a ghost who still had a vessel. "you cannot give me what i want, priestess." sariel says.
she suddenly feels angry again. but not the shallow kind, passionate and almost-life-ending. this was a simmering type of anger, resentment from a woman who had given everything to the gods, only for her them to abandon her. what she wants is sacrilegious and unattainable. unthinkable. and yet, sariel clenches her palms into bloody fists, imagining the heart of a god in its grasp.
"my only want is for the gods to suffer as i have. revenge, so that i may finally die in peace. and if you cannot give me that, then i want nothing of you."
verona santillian
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