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
are there things that elysia wouldn't put words around? yes, for the first time. jagged edges and broken off pieces that she won't cast a light on, words and phrases better left untranslated. the meaning is inferred between the lines, in the space between them, in how she held his hands then and, as he vowed his life to her, she vowed to protect his too.
something like ownership, barely anything like parenthood.
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whether she could provide what he wanted or needed was debatable, lost somewhere in her own interests and stories, telling legends from a region far from here. rolling her sleeves up to show the long, white lines against tanned skin, elysia grins and tells him they're meant to be a protection symbols, bordering on cultish, the belief that the water pokemon of hoenn's mythos would protect them if its sigils are inked into skin.
the love and nostalgia for her home continent grew sharper in the change of seasons, but the thought of displacing their comfort hadn't seemed a viable possibility.
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elysia always said that the most striking difference between them was that fernando looked to the future - to innovation and ambition - whereas persephone looked backward - to history, to the arcane, to the question of how we got here. persephone, in the vague and philosophical musings of a teenager, tries to not be bitter when she says that the future depends on the past, not the other way around.
her caution bled out with the months, when his presence served to become less of an intrusion and more a a stark otherness that she could tolerate but not fully accept. it's a makeshift family, but persephone can't shake the feeling that she simply wasn't enough. calling fernando "like a brother," she watches their facial expression to give her an answer to questions she couldn't phrase and had to read in their eyes instead;
what is this? what are we? and then, the one that hurt the most in hindsight. when will we end?
FERNANDO SILPH
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