i close my eyes
Who: Eden and you. (open)
What: Sad creeper girl is sad.
Where: In the city /or/ Eden's place of solace.
When: Night
Warnings: Je suis au désespoir.
There is an empty place in her arms where Sapphira should be. It is cold at night without her daughter, and as the awareness of that fundamental lack penetrates her consciousness, the nightmares follow. They are familiar dreams, she has had them so many times in the past three years that there is no mistaking them as anything but a part of herself, a web of horror woven across her heart; a web of long black hair turned slightly purple from a tacky coating of dark, congealed blood. She had hoped, in the naïve and desperate way which she has long since mastered, that the city of dreams would not allow the nightmares to follow her.
She puts up a ward against the sadness, keeps herself busy in the daytime hunting the market for the pieces that she needs. A shelf to mount it on, a large animal skull, the cavern inside large enough to house all the bad dreams, little bones to bind into crosses the way that mother showed her to, small metal chimes to ward the darkness away, and a tuft of animal fur to disguise her, to lure the hunters on another trail. She ties each piece together on ropes of braided hair, hanging it above her bed on the quiet fourth floor of the ninth house. She pricks her finger and draws a line of blood down the face of the dead mask to make it right, to make it powerful, and she hopes that it will be enough.
It is not. She wakes in the middle of the night choking on silent tears, face wet and body aching everywhere from a memory she cannot escape.
And there is no one here. Sapphira is not here to clamber into bed with her and promise her that it is not true. Othniel is not here to knock on her door and watch the moon with her. Ram is not here to bring her a large cup of dark tea and to sit silently alongside her and share that pain. Father is not here to tell her his stories in the dark. She cannot go to Kelly, she cannot go to Christopher, nor to her uncle.
She reaches for the portal, stares into its camera briefly with her wet eyes before she turns it off. She leaves her bed, leaves her mask and her portal and her shoes behind and walks out into the city. A very small girl with large wet eyes, crying in the soundless night, skin white under the stars as she makes her way through the streets, heading for her place of solace.
It gives her no solace to be there, she is still in tears as she approaches the river, but it is something of her Hill-the smell of rotting leaves and wet dirt-and this is all she can have in the absence of her daughter.
What: Sad creeper girl is sad.
Where: In the city /or/ Eden's place of solace.
When: Night
Warnings: Je suis au désespoir.
There is an empty place in her arms where Sapphira should be. It is cold at night without her daughter, and as the awareness of that fundamental lack penetrates her consciousness, the nightmares follow. They are familiar dreams, she has had them so many times in the past three years that there is no mistaking them as anything but a part of herself, a web of horror woven across her heart; a web of long black hair turned slightly purple from a tacky coating of dark, congealed blood. She had hoped, in the naïve and desperate way which she has long since mastered, that the city of dreams would not allow the nightmares to follow her.
She puts up a ward against the sadness, keeps herself busy in the daytime hunting the market for the pieces that she needs. A shelf to mount it on, a large animal skull, the cavern inside large enough to house all the bad dreams, little bones to bind into crosses the way that mother showed her to, small metal chimes to ward the darkness away, and a tuft of animal fur to disguise her, to lure the hunters on another trail. She ties each piece together on ropes of braided hair, hanging it above her bed on the quiet fourth floor of the ninth house. She pricks her finger and draws a line of blood down the face of the dead mask to make it right, to make it powerful, and she hopes that it will be enough.
It is not. She wakes in the middle of the night choking on silent tears, face wet and body aching everywhere from a memory she cannot escape.
And there is no one here. Sapphira is not here to clamber into bed with her and promise her that it is not true. Othniel is not here to knock on her door and watch the moon with her. Ram is not here to bring her a large cup of dark tea and to sit silently alongside her and share that pain. Father is not here to tell her his stories in the dark. She cannot go to Kelly, she cannot go to Christopher, nor to her uncle.
She reaches for the portal, stares into its camera briefly with her wet eyes before she turns it off. She leaves her bed, leaves her mask and her portal and her shoes behind and walks out into the city. A very small girl with large wet eyes, crying in the soundless night, skin white under the stars as she makes her way through the streets, heading for her place of solace.
It gives her no solace to be there, she is still in tears as she approaches the river, but it is something of her Hill-the smell of rotting leaves and wet dirt-and this is all she can have in the absence of her daughter.