perse
she / her
twenty-four
november 23
sootopolis
good q
lorekeeper / elite four
elite four
my own blood pains me, the salt as much as the vein
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persephone amavi
her kiss should be gentle or questioning, but it is everything but.
if he says he knows what he wants - her - he would receive it in full. you can't accuse her of not being earnest, and he should know what he's asking for if he still came to her.
elysia's hands were made to read long-forgotten stories, her fingers attuned to dust-covered surfaces and stone. they were not made to tell secrets on skin, the never lingering touch, feather-light and gone before it can leave any lingering feeling.
the sigh of a ghost in his ear.
guiding him is easy, but not getting lost herself in the journey is much harder. the strings connecting it all together through some cosmic causality - their individual actions, words unspoken - culminated as if predetermined.
as always, the act is easy, but living with the consequences may be nigh impossible. she thinks about crying for him in a distant, clinical way but cannot bring herself to regret it.
her lips hardly move. her "i love you," sounds like penance, rhetorical, she doesn't want him to answer.
she lies beside him, fingers linked, the fine white hair framing her face more stray than ever, her gaze still everywhere but on him.
the open atlas, the transcribed glyphs, the tomes he had brought her, the letter-opener, the research she didn't know she would never finish - one final full stop on the desk laying out her life.
but they're breathing, and they're together, and for some time, it's enough.
FERNANDO SILPH
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