Eddie’s Words

[The Wandering Wizard he/him]

2 minutes ago, Edema Rue said:

Thanks, Wiz.

These words are a little less happy, sorry.

Poison:

  Hide contents

I’m a little tired,

Of telling you sorry.

I’m a little tired,

Of apologizing once you’re through hurting me.

I’m a little tired,

Of your care ripping me apart.

I’m a little tired,

Of your love shattering my heart.

 

After the tears stop,

There’s a salty residue that remains.

It cracks,

When I smile.

It flakes away,

When I open my mouth to say “it’s okay”

My eyes feel dry

For hours after

I’m through with crying.

 

When you talk to me,

I’m reminded

Of everything 

I spend my life

Trying to forget.

 

When you come,

With your pretty words

And loving heart,

Nothing 

In me

Is enough.

When you’re here,

I’m breaking.

 

Your love is sharp

And careful

And smothering

And dangerous.

I want your love

Your pride,

Your trust,

Your help.

 

I want

A lot

Of

Things.

A

Lot

Of

Things

That

Hurt

Me.

 

You don’t want to hurt me,

But sometimes, 

When I’m

At my weakest,

Your love

Takes the form

Of a poisoned dagger.

 

And poison spreads,

And spreads,

And spreads.

Until it reaches

The heart.

And 

The heart

Stops

Pounding.

 

I’m a little tired,

Of letting my heart beat.

I’m a little tired,

Of being the worst.

I’m a little tired,

Of unending comparisons.

I’m a little tired,

Of the little things.

I’m a little tired,

Of trying.

I’m a little tired,

Of being alive.

 

And your poison,

Isn’t helping.

Even though

I know,

I

Helped

Create

It.

 

I spread it

Along the dagger;

I put

The weapon

In your hand.

I spit

In your

Eye.

 

And expected you

Not

To cut me.

Relationships are hard. Oh well.

*hugs* 

[Edema Rue she/her]

Okay, I wrote another "child becomes evil and magic" scene!! This one is similar to Blood and Ghost, but it got a little...strange. I started thinking about life halfway through it, so...oops.

And so I present...

Monster:

Spoiler

The boy’s first memory was of lights.

His next memory was pain.

And noise.

And then a face.

His vision was blurry, and there were lights above him. He hurt, he knew that, and there was a ghastly noise. It was loud. It was very loud. He tried to open his mouth, to make the noise stop, and realized that his mouth was already open. He was making the noise. He was…screaming. Why was he screaming? The boy fell silent. Then he remembered why he was screaming; his head hurt. Everything hurt…though, he realized, he couldn’t feel his arms or legs. His head hurt, though. It hurt a lot. He whimpered. And then there was the face. It leaned over him, not looking at his eyes, but at something above him. A hand in a thin blue glove reached for him, holding something that the boy couldn’t make his eyes focus on.

He tried to twist away, and realized that he couldn’t move. His eyes rolled wildly, but he…he couldn’t move. He opened his mouth to scream again, and another blue hand shoved something big and soft into it.

“Hush, now,” a stern voice said. “I knew starting with the head was a mistake…ah, well, better than doing the head last only to find that none of the rest of it worked.” The voice hummed softly, and the hands pulled back.

The boy tried to scream in pain, or to talk, or anything, but whatever the man had shoved in his mouth was too big. And so he sat there, and watched the hands.

When they came back into view, one of them was holding a needle, and a long piece of black thread. Then both hands went out of sight again, and the boy felt a sharp pain in his head. His eyes bulged.

That first day was long. Very long. The man sewed on the boy’s arms, and oh, it hurt. One of the arms already had a hand; the other needed one. Both were missing fingers, but the man found some and added them without much difficulty. After that first day, though, the boy became…a side project. A hobby.

Good servants, after all, don’t need to walk. The boy sat for hours, learning to use his new hands. He obeyed his master. He could make food…sew clothing, and, occasionally, people. Whatever his Master needed.

There were other servants in the house. Twisted, broken servants. The boy was not like them, he realized that. He could speak. And the man always worked on him personally, never allowing another servant to sew even a single stitch, though the boy helped with many of the others; he sewed on fingers, toes, limbs. He did as his Master commanded. There was no need to think, no need to imagine a life other than the one he was living…if he even was living.

After nearly a month, the Master found time for the boy again. The boy woke up to a stabbing pain in his legs. He didn’t scream this time; Master had told him that screaming was not allowed. But oh, oh, it hurt…his legs…he had legs! When he realized, the boy wept with gladness and thanked the Master; his life was a gift, Master had explained. He shouldn’t even be alive, but Master was unendingly good and caring. The boy wasn’t even a real person; everything he had was a precious sign of Master’s generosity.

It took the boy a long time to learn to walk. He didn’t dare complain; none of the other servants could walk. They crawled, or pulled themselves by twisted arms, or did a number of other things with the various limbs they had been awarded. The boy…the boy was lucky. He could speak. He could walk, walk like Master did. 

There was a day when the stitches on one of the boy’s little fingers came out. He carried the finger to his Master. He was crying. Not from the pain, though it hurt terribly; he had long ago learned that pain brought progress, that it made him more like his Master. “I am sorry,” he said. “I have broken your precious gift.”

Master smiled. “It is well, my child,” he said. He took his needle, his thick black thread, and he gently sewed the finger back into place. 

Only a week after that, and everything changed. Master had insisted the boy sleep while he worked; the boy didn’t like that. He’d come to treasure the moments when he lay on the table, the sole focus of his Master’s caring eyes. 

“This will hurt,” Master warned.

“I do not mind,” the boy replied. “Let me stay awake, Master. Let me feel the pain.” Let me see that you love me.

Master hesitated for a long moment, then finally he nodded. “All right.”

Master had not lied. It hurt, hurt more than anything the boy had ever felt. His head was being opened up, and it pulsed and twisted. The boy bit down very hard and forced himself not to scream. He looked up, and his Master was there. His Master, with caring eyes and steady hands that tore through his mind.

The boy looked into his Master’s eyes, and he smiled through the greatest pain he’d ever felt.

***

When the boy awoke, he knew something was different. He could think…so much more clearly. He could remember everything…and he realized now how cruel his master was. He realized, finally, that he did not exist to serve. That he could be more, that he deserved to be more. His life was not a gift from the master; his life was his own, and he would make of it more than what the master had intended.

The boy walked to the room where he had first come into being. He had spent hours there, now, hours creating other servants and hours allowing himself to be made anew. He picked up the master’s needle, then went in search of the man himself. 

The master was sleeping when the boy found him. 

He never awoke. 

And the servants learned their first word.

“Monster.”

 

[The Wandering Wizard he/him]

8 hours ago, Edema Rue said:

Okay, I wrote another "child becomes evil and magic" scene!! This one is similar to Blood and Ghost, but it got a little...strange. I started thinking about life halfway through it, so...oops.

And so I present...

Monster:

  Hide contents

The boy’s first memory was of lights.

His next memory was pain.

And noise.

And then a face.

His vision was blurry, and there were lights above him. He hurt, he knew that, and there was a ghastly noise. It was loud. It was very loud. He tried to open his mouth, to make the noise stop, and realized that his mouth was already open. He was making the noise. He was…screaming. Why was he screaming? The boy fell silent. Then he remembered why he was screaming; his head hurt. Everything hurt…though, he realized, he couldn’t feel his arms or legs. His head hurt, though. It hurt a lot. He whimpered. And then there was the face. It leaned over him, not looking at his eyes, but at something above him. A hand in a thin blue glove reached for him, holding something that the boy couldn’t make his eyes focus on.

He tried to twist away, and realized that he couldn’t move. His eyes rolled wildly, but he…he couldn’t move. He opened his mouth to scream again, and another blue hand shoved something big and soft into it.

“Hush, now,” a stern voice said. “I knew starting with the head was a mistake…ah, well, better than doing the head last only to find that none of the rest of it worked.” The voice hummed softly, and the hands pulled back.

The boy tried to scream in pain, or to talk, or anything, but whatever the man had shoved in his mouth was too big. And so he sat there, and watched the hands.

When they came back into view, one of them was holding a needle, and a long piece of black thread. Then both hands went out of sight again, and the boy felt a sharp pain in his head. His eyes bulged.

That first day was long. Very long. The man sewed on the boy’s arms, and oh, it hurt. One of the arms already had a hand; the other needed one. Both were missing fingers, but the man found some and added them without much difficulty. After that first day, though, the boy became…a side project. A hobby.

Good servants, after all, don’t need to walk. The boy sat for hours, learning to use his new hands. He obeyed his master. He could make food…sew clothing, and, occasionally, people. Whatever his Master needed.

There were other servants in the house. Twisted, broken servants. The boy was not like them, he realized that. He could speak. And the man always worked on him personally, never allowing another servant to sew even a single stitch, though the boy helped with many of the others; he sewed on fingers, toes, limbs. He did as his Master commanded. There was no need to think, no need to imagine a life other than the one he was living…if he even was living.

After nearly a month, the Master found time for the boy again. The boy woke up to a stabbing pain in his legs. He didn’t scream this time; Master had told him that screaming was not allowed. But oh, oh, it hurt…his legs…he had legs! When he realized, the boy wept with gladness and thanked the Master; his life was a gift, Master had explained. He shouldn’t even be alive, but Master was unendingly good and caring. The boy wasn’t even a real person; everything he had was a precious sign of Master’s generosity.

It took the boy a long time to learn to walk. He didn’t dare complain; none of the other servants could walk. They crawled, or pulled themselves by twisted arms, or did a number of other things with the various limbs they had been awarded. The boy…the boy was lucky. He could speak. He could walk, walk like Master did. 

There was a day when the stitches on one of the boy’s little fingers came out. He carried the finger to his Master. He was crying. Not from the pain, though it hurt terribly; he had long ago learned that pain brought progress, that it made him more like his Master. “I am sorry,” he said. “I have broken your precious gift.”

Master smiled. “It is well, my child,” he said. He took his needle, his thick black thread, and he gently sewed the finger back into place. 

Only a week after that, and everything changed. Master had insisted the boy sleep while he worked; the boy didn’t like that. He’d come to treasure the moments when he lay on the table, the sole focus of his Master’s caring eyes. 

“This will hurt,” Master warned.

“I do not mind,” the boy replied. “Let me stay awake, Master. Let me feel the pain.” Let me see that you love me.

Master hesitated for a long moment, then finally he nodded. “All right.”

Master had not lied. It hurt, hurt more than anything the boy had ever felt. His head was being opened up, and it pulsed and twisted. The boy bit down very hard and forced himself not to scream. He looked up, and his Master was there. His Master, with caring eyes and steady hands that tore through his mind.

The boy looked into his Master’s eyes, and he smiled through the greatest pain he’d ever felt.

***

When the boy awoke, he knew something was different. He could think…so much more clearly. He could remember everything…and he realized now how cruel his master was. He realized, finally, that he did not exist to serve. That he could be more, that he deserved to be more. His life was not a gift from the master; his life was his own, and he would make of it more than what the master had intended.

The boy walked to the room where he had first come into being. He had spent hours there, now, hours creating other servants and hours allowing himself to be made anew. He picked up the master’s needle, then went in search of the man himself. 

The master was sleeping when the boy found him. 

He never awoke. 

And the servants learned their first word.

“Monster.”

 

*hugs*

It's horrifying

[Edema Rue she/her]

1 hour ago, The Wandering Wizard said:

*hugs*

It's horrifying

Thank you!!

[Edema Rue she/her]

This one's really messy, and not very good, but that's okay. I read Hebrews 11 for the first time and...this was the result.

By Faith

Spoiler

By faith,

All things are made possible.

By faith,

All things have been done.

By faith,

There is hope.

By faith,

There is peace.

By faith,

There is comfort.

 

Abraham,

Was asked,

To give 

His only son.

He looked to God,

Who’d already

Given His,

For us,

And he took Isaac

Up the mountain.

 

By faith,

A promise was kept.

By faith,

A life was saved.

By faith,

A father looked 

To his son,

His child,

His seed,

And offered him up

To the Lord.

 

Faith

Is like

Trust.

Faith

Is about

Enduring

To 

The end.

Faith

Is so much more

Than simply

Believing

 

Faith is about seeing

A great

And beautiful

Building,

Full of lights,

And laughter,

And music,

And friendship,

And everything

You’ve ever

Thought

You wanted.

 

Faith is seeing

The building

And choosing

To stay outside

In the cold.

Suffering,

Rejected,

Forgotten by men.

But never

By God.

 

Faith

Is choosing pain

Rather than living

A life

Of joyful sin.

 

Faith

Is choosing hope

Rather than living

A life

Of endless dark.

 

Faith

Is trusting

That someday,

The pain will end.

And the joy

Will be worth

The misery.

 

Faith

Is knowing

That there’s a place

For you.

 

By faith,

Mountains are moved.

By faith, 

Mountains can be climbed.

By faith,

All things

Are possible.

 

[The Wandering Wizard he/him]

6 minutes ago, Edema Rue said:

This one's really messy, and not very good, but that's okay. I read Hebrews 11 for the first time and...this was the result.

By Faith

  Hide contents

By faith,

All things are made possible.

By faith,

All things have been done.

By faith,

There is hope.

By faith,

There is peace.

By faith,

There is comfort.

 

Abraham,

Was asked,

To give 

His only son.

He looked to God,

Who’d already

Given His,

For us,

And he took Isaac

Up the mountain.

 

By faith,

A promise was kept.

By faith,

A life was saved.

By faith,

A father looked 

To his son,

His child,

His seed,

And offered him up

To the Lord.

 

Faith

Is like

Trust.

Faith

Is about

Enduring

To 

The end.

Faith

Is so much more

Than simply

Believing

 

Faith is about seeing

A great

And beautiful

Building,

Full of lights,

And laughter,

And music,

And friendship,

And everything

You’ve ever

Thought

You wanted.

 

Faith is seeing

The building

And choosing

To stay outside

In the cold.

Suffering,

Rejected,

Forgotten by men.

But never

By God.

 

Faith

Is choosing pain

Rather than living

A life

Of joyful sin.

 

Faith

Is choosing hope

Rather than living

A life

Of endless dark.

 

Faith

Is trusting

That someday,

The pain will end.

And the joy

Will be worth

The misery.

 

Faith

Is knowing

That there’s a place

For you.

 

By faith,

Mountains are moved.

By faith, 

Mountains can be climbed.

By faith,

All things

Are possible.

 

It's not messy Rue, it’s a masterpiece

Edited November 8, 2023 by The Wandering Wizard

[Edema Rue she/her]

11 minutes ago, The Wandering Wizard said:

It's not messy Rue, it’s a masterpiece

Thanks Wiz *hugs*

[The Wandering Wizard he/him]

2 minutes ago, Edema Rue said:

Thanks Wiz *hugs*

*gives a big enveloping hug*

Thanks to you peace has bound up my broken heart

[Edema Rue she/her]

1 minute ago, The Wandering Wizard said:

*gives a big enveloping hug*

Thanks to you peace has bound up my broken heart

It will heal, even if it takes years or a lifetime. <333

 

[Edema Rue she/her]

I HAVE MORE WITH LIZ

FINALLY

This isn't the whole chapter or even scene, but it's about midnight, I have school tomorrow, and this was the best stopping place I had. I'll hopefully have more with her tomorrow.

Spoiler

“Lizzy,” Ian hissed. “I don’t think this is a good idea…”

I turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “And what makes you say that?” I asked sarcastically.

He frowned. “Is this one of your jokes? Now isn’t the time…Liz, I think they have knives.” He sounded genuinely terrified. Bother. This might be harder than I’d thought…I’d still do it, though. I’d win this bet if it killed me, which I was starting to think it might. I looked at one of the cloaked figures surrounding us, then nodded. Several of them rushed forward and reached for me. Ian screamed…then turned and ran. As soon as he was out of sight, the figures fell back. 

Siylna flicked her hood back and laughed. “Doesn’t look like much of a hero to me…”

I gave her a flat look. “Like you’re one to talk…you haven’t found anyone better.”

She shrugged noncommittally. “Not yet. I will, though, don’t you worry.” 

I laughed. “And I’ll make him a hero long before yours is even born.”

Siylna just shook her head. “You’re determined, Liz, I’ll give you that, but you just don’t understand.”

“Oh? Care to explain?”

“Can’t hurt.” Siylna hesitated, looking up at the dark sky. “Where to begin…” She gestured for me to follow her, and I did. “For this scenario, we’ll assume you’re right; anyone can be a hero when you put enough pressure on them. Even our little Ian. You’re putting pressure on him, certainly, but you haven’t given him anything to fight; how can he be a hero if there isn’t a villain?”

I nodded, pondering her words. “I can give him a villain.” 

We were so young then…we had no idea. We were but children, playing with lives as though we were goddesses. We imagined ourselves to be a pair of deities surrounded by mortals. We thought ourselves to be the authors of our own stories…and we were, to an extent. People in this world often forget that they have a choice. We didn’t. We chose. And perhaps it’s better that we did; isn’t it better to sit on a throne for one short moment than to spend your entire life groveling in the mud? And maybe I’ll spend the rest of my life in these chains, but even if I do I am glad. Because I made a naive, foolish choice, and because of it I have lived a life of my own. We both did…though Ian didn’t. He didn’t need to. We chose for him, and maybe he regrets the pain, but because of it he has a palace and grand riches and a princess. I wrote him a story, and he acted it out perfectly…where was I?

Siylna smirked. “You can’t bribe anyone enough for that.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And what if I do it?”

She laughed out loud at that. If we weren’t such friends, perhaps I would have been offended, but I didn’t mind. Siylna was realistic, always had been, and I was glad for it; she was right. “Liz…you aren’t a villain. And Ian will never be a hero.”

It’s funny, now. She really did say that. She genuinely believed it, too. But people, it turns out, can change far more than either of us ever imagined.

“Watch me,” was my simple reply. “Watch us. If it takes burning the world to prove I’m right, I will do it.”

She shook her head, grinning. “Liz…when you talk like that, you almost make me believe you’re right.”

I smirked. “I am.”

She gave me a lazy salute. “We’ll see, my friend.”

I nodded. “That we will. Enjoy your fruitless search, Si. Joy is all it will bring you.”

“Enjoy your villainy, Lizzy. Ian will break, not rise. I know him.”

 

[The Wandering Wizard he/him]

9 hours ago, Edema Rue said:

I HAVE MORE WITH LIZ

FINALLY

This isn't the whole chapter or even scene, but it's about midnight, I have school tomorrow, and this was the best stopping place I had. I'll hopefully have more with her tomorrow.

  Hide contents

“Lizzy,” Ian hissed. “I don’t think this is a good idea…”

I turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “And what makes you say that?” I asked sarcastically.

He frowned. “Is this one of your jokes? Now isn’t the time…Liz, I think they have knives.” He sounded genuinely terrified. Bother. This might be harder than I’d thought…I’d still do it, though. I’d win this bet if it killed me, which I was starting to think it might. I looked at one of the cloaked figures surrounding us, then nodded. Several of them rushed forward and reached for me. Ian screamed…then turned and ran. As soon as he was out of sight, the figures fell back. 

Siylna flicked her hood back and laughed. “Doesn’t look like much of a hero to me…”

I gave her a flat look. “Like you’re one to talk…you haven’t found anyone better.”

She shrugged noncommittally. “Not yet. I will, though, don’t you worry.” 

I laughed. “And I’ll make him a hero long before yours is even born.”

Siylna just shook her head. “You’re determined, Liz, I’ll give you that, but you just don’t understand.”

“Oh? Care to explain?”

“Can’t hurt.” Siylna hesitated, looking up at the dark sky. “Where to begin…” She gestured for me to follow her, and I did. “For this scenario, we’ll assume you’re right; anyone can be a hero when you put enough pressure on them. Even our little Ian. You’re putting pressure on him, certainly, but you haven’t given him anything to fight; how can he be a hero if there isn’t a villain?”

I nodded, pondering her words. “I can give him a villain.” 

We were so young then…we had no idea. We were but children, playing with lives as though we were goddesses. We imagined ourselves to be a pair of deities surrounded by mortals. We thought ourselves to be the authors of our own stories…and we were, to an extent. People in this world often forget that they have a choice. We didn’t. We chose. And perhaps it’s better that we did; isn’t it better to sit on a throne for one short moment than to spend your entire life groveling in the mud? And maybe I’ll spend the rest of my life in these chains, but even if I do I am glad. Because I made a naive, foolish choice, and because of it I have lived a life of my own. We both did…though Ian didn’t. He didn’t need to. We chose for him, and maybe he regrets the pain, but because of it he has a palace and grand riches and a princess. I wrote him a story, and he acted it out perfectly…where was I?

Siylna smirked. “You can’t bribe anyone enough for that.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And what if I do it?”

She laughed out loud at that. If we weren’t such friends, perhaps I would have been offended, but I didn’t mind. Siylna was realistic, always had been, and I was glad for it; she was right. “Liz…you aren’t a villain. And Ian will never be a hero.”

It’s funny, now. She really did say that. She genuinely believed it, too. But people, it turns out, can change far more than either of us ever imagined.

“Watch me,” was my simple reply. “Watch us. If it takes burning the world to prove I’m right, I will do it.”

She shook her head, grinning. “Liz…when you talk like that, you almost make me believe you’re right.”

I smirked. “I am.”

She gave me a lazy salute. “We’ll see, my friend.”

I nodded. “That we will. Enjoy your fruitless search, Si. Joy is all it will bring you.”

“Enjoy your villainy, Lizzy. Ian will break, not rise. I know him.”

 

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!

[Edema Rue she/her]

On 11/12/2023 at 11:57 PM, Edema Rue said:

I HAVE MORE WITH LIZ

FINALLY

This isn't the whole chapter or even scene, but it's about midnight, I have school tomorrow, and this was the best stopping place I had. I'll hopefully have more with her tomorrow.

  Reveal hidden contents

“Lizzy,” Ian hissed. “I don’t think this is a good idea…”

I turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “And what makes you say that?” I asked sarcastically.

He frowned. “Is this one of your jokes? Now isn’t the time…Liz, I think they have knives.” He sounded genuinely terrified. Bother. This might be harder than I’d thought…I’d still do it, though. I’d win this bet if it killed me, which I was starting to think it might. I looked at one of the cloaked figures surrounding us, then nodded. Several of them rushed forward and reached for me. Ian screamed…then turned and ran. As soon as he was out of sight, the figures fell back. 

Siylna flicked her hood back and laughed. “Doesn’t look like much of a hero to me…”

I gave her a flat look. “Like you’re one to talk…you haven’t found anyone better.”

She shrugged noncommittally. “Not yet. I will, though, don’t you worry.” 

I laughed. “And I’ll make him a hero long before yours is even born.”

Siylna just shook her head. “You’re determined, Liz, I’ll give you that, but you just don’t understand.”

“Oh? Care to explain?”

“Can’t hurt.” Siylna hesitated, looking up at the dark sky. “Where to begin…” She gestured for me to follow her, and I did. “For this scenario, we’ll assume you’re right; anyone can be a hero when you put enough pressure on them. Even our little Ian. You’re putting pressure on him, certainly, but you haven’t given him anything to fight; how can he be a hero if there isn’t a villain?”

I nodded, pondering her words. “I can give him a villain.” 

We were so young then…we had no idea. We were but children, playing with lives as though we were goddesses. We imagined ourselves to be a pair of deities surrounded by mortals. We thought ourselves to be the authors of our own stories…and we were, to an extent. People in this world often forget that they have a choice. We didn’t. We chose. And perhaps it’s better that we did; isn’t it better to sit on a throne for one short moment than to spend your entire life groveling in the mud? And maybe I’ll spend the rest of my life in these chains, but even if I do I am glad. Because I made a naive, foolish choice, and because of it I have lived a life of my own. We both did…though Ian didn’t. He didn’t need to. We chose for him, and maybe he regrets the pain, but because of it he has a palace and grand riches and a princess. I wrote him a story, and he acted it out perfectly…where was I?

Siylna smirked. “You can’t bribe anyone enough for that.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And what if I do it?”

She laughed out loud at that. If we weren’t such friends, perhaps I would have been offended, but I didn’t mind. Siylna was realistic, always had been, and I was glad for it; she was right. “Liz…you aren’t a villain. And Ian will never be a hero.”

It’s funny, now. She really did say that. She genuinely believed it, too. But people, it turns out, can change far more than either of us ever imagined.

“Watch me,” was my simple reply. “Watch us. If it takes burning the world to prove I’m right, I will do it.”

She shook her head, grinning. “Liz…when you talk like that, you almost make me believe you’re right.”

I smirked. “I am.”

She gave me a lazy salute. “We’ll see, my friend.”

I nodded. “That we will. Enjoy your fruitless search, Si. Joy is all it will bring you.”

“Enjoy your villainy, Lizzy. Ian will break, not rise. I know him.”

 

Okay here’s the rest of this chapter  

@The Wandering Wizard

Spoiler

I fell into studies, then. Siylna had been right; if I didn’t give Ian someone to fight, he’d never be a hero. I let him think I’d been kidnapped; I left the academy, left everything without any warning. During that time, I learned far too much. I fell back into a childish part of myself I hadn’t been in years. Some twisted combination of dreamer, scholar, and daredevil all merged into…well, into the Lady of Darkness. I read tales of the fey meant for children. I studied the known magics until I could have taught any one of the masters, and then I learned more. I journeyed into the furthest parts of the mountains at the faintest suggestion of a secret. I roamed the world, becoming…

A villain, I suppose.

After much thought, I decided to stage a coup. Not a revolution; the king I aimed for was benevolent and fair, though of course he had his flaws. A revolution would risk my becoming a hero, and that wouldn’t help me. I needed to do something cruel, evil, unjustified. I worked my way through the underworld, building a reputation as a mercenary who would do anything, if the pay was great enough.

I learned what luxury was, those years. All my life, I’d scraped by with what I could. I could sew my own clothing, find my own food, make do without soap or hot water or any of a thousand other things. I was mocked for it when I first arrived at the academy; mocked by the heirs and heiresses to grand estates, huge fortunes. Those years, I lived better than any of them.

I was above them, and well aware of the fact. Because of me, few of them ever inherited what they’d been promised.

Still, I knew how to play a part. I knew how to grovel to get what I wanted…though, of course, there was a sharp learning curve that first year. I could tell dozens of stories, tell you of hundreds of jobs, of learning to fight. But they were a monotonous routine, for the most part. Even the most dangerous job is just that; a job. Some of them stand out, though.

I still remember the first time I met Lord Fikkl. I’d been offered a job by a cloaked figure in a dark alley. That happens more often than you’d expect. I went to the arranged meeting point. He was late, of course he was late. Fikkl loved to watch people squirm. I was waiting patiently when he finally arrived; this was exactly the sort of opportunity I’d been waiting for. To work for a powerful, ambitious lord…it was a step in the right direction. He looked me up and down, unimpressed. 

“You sure we want this one?” He asked a lithe figure at his side.

The figure nodded. “She’ll be very useful to us, m’Lord.”

“Fine then,” he replied, turning to leave. “Take her and let’s be on our way.”

I raised a cocky eyebrow. “No. Details first.”

Fikkl turned back slowly. “You, I am afraid, don’t get a choice. I have work for you. My assassins live good lives, and I’ve chosen to let you work among them. Come along, now, or you will be made to.”

I laughed, letting a breeze flow through my hair. “Try,” I taunted. Oh, I’m almost ashamed to think of the fool I was then…but not quite. It brought me pain, and I am stronger for it. 

The figure slunk forward, graceful and deadly and cloaked in shadows. A true assassin. I assumed an assassin would have the disadvantage in a head on fight; it would have been an accurate assumption, had I been even half as strong as my opponent.

I wasn’t. The figure came forward slowly, movements almost…lazy. That made me angry, too angry. How dare they underestimate me? I sent a long, twisted whip of glowing blue light at the figure. Fikkl raised an eyebrow; blue was not a common color for magic. It had taken me almost a year of study to make my magic any color I wanted. It had no real effect beyond intimidating opponents (or so I thought then). The assassin, though, was unfazed. There suddenly appeared to be 3 figures. My whip sliced easily through all of them, and I turned just in time to see the real person behind me.

I ducked and swung my axe. I’m sure you’ve heard tales of my axe…that wasn’t the famous one, but it was a beauty. All weapons have beauty in them. I was not as skilled with it was I thought I was, but I wasn’t bad, either. I knocked a tiny dagger out of the assassin’s hand, simultaneously shooting out a huge ball of energy. The assassin slid under it, but I had learned to move my energy in ways that they didn’t expect. I felt a brief moment of triumph upon hearing Fikkl’s gasp, seeing the assassin’s eyes widen. Then, deep within the figure’s hood, I saw the flash of teeth; they were grinning.

I stepped back, trying to figure out what was coming next. The figure leapt to their feet and threw several daggers at once. I ducked below the first two, but that took away my maneuverability, and a third stuck into my leg. I grimaced and reached to pull it out. As I did, though, the tip broke off. In any other situation, I probably would’ve laughed. Who used daggers so poorly made that they broke when being thrown?

And then I felt my magic fading from around me. “What—”

I raised my axe defensively, but this time the assassin kicked at my wrist, and I dropped it. The last thing I saw was the figure nod to me, and then something slammed into the back of my head and everything went black.

 

[The Wandering Wizard he/him]

8 minutes ago, Edema Rue said:

Okay here’s the rest of this chapter  

@The Wandering Wizard

  Hide contents

I fell into studies, then. Siylna had been right; if I didn’t give Ian someone to fight, he’d never be a hero. I let him think I’d been kidnapped; I left the academy, left everything without any warning. During that time, I learned far too much. I fell back into a childish part of myself I hadn’t been in years. Some twisted combination of dreamer, scholar, and daredevil all merged into…well, into the Lady of Darkness. I read tales of the fey meant for children. I studied the known magics until I could have taught any one of the masters, and then I learned more. I journeyed into the furthest parts of the mountains at the faintest suggestion of a secret. I roamed the world, becoming…

A villain, I suppose.

After much thought, I decided to stage a coup. Not a revolution; the king I aimed for was benevolent and fair, though of course he had his flaws. A revolution would risk my becoming a hero, and that wouldn’t help me. I needed to do something cruel, evil, unjustified. I worked my way through the underworld, building a reputation as a mercenary who would do anything, if the pay was great enough.

I learned what luxury was, those years. All my life, I’d scraped by with what I could. I could sew my own clothing, find my own food, make do without soap or hot water or any of a thousand other things. I was mocked for it when I first arrived at the academy; mocked by the heirs and heiresses to grand estates, huge fortunes. Those years, I lived better than any of them.

I was above them, and well aware of the fact. Because of me, few of them ever inherited what they’d been promised.

Still, I knew how to play a part. I knew how to grovel to get what I wanted…though, of course, there was a sharp learning curve that first year. I could tell dozens of stories, tell you of hundreds of jobs, of learning to fight. But they were a monotonous routine, for the most part. Even the most dangerous job is just that; a job. Some of them stand out, though.

I still remember the first time I met Lord Fikkl. I’d been offered a job by a cloaked figure in a dark alley. That happens more often than you’d expect. I went to the arranged meeting point. He was late, of course he was late. Fikkl loved to watch people squirm. I was waiting patiently when he finally arrived; this was exactly the sort of opportunity I’d been waiting for. To work for a powerful, ambitious lord…it was a step in the right direction. He looked me up and down, unimpressed. 

“You sure we want this one?” He asked a lithe figure at his side.

The figure nodded. “She’ll be very useful to us, m’Lord.”

“Fine then,” he replied, turning to leave. “Take her and let’s be on our way.”

I raised a cocky eyebrow. “No. Details first.”

Fikkl turned back slowly. “You, I am afraid, don’t get a choice. I have work for you. My assassins live good lives, and I’ve chosen to let you work among them. Come along, now, or you will be made to.”

I laughed, letting a breeze flow through my hair. “Try,” I taunted. Oh, I’m almost ashamed to think of the fool I was then…but not quite. It brought me pain, and I am stronger for it. 

The figure slunk forward, graceful and deadly and cloaked in shadows. A true assassin. I assumed an assassin would have the disadvantage in a head on fight; it would have been an accurate assumption, had I been even half as strong as my opponent.

I wasn’t. The figure came forward slowly, movements almost…lazy. That made me angry, too angry. How dare they underestimate me? I sent a long, twisted whip of glowing blue light at the figure. Fikkl raised an eyebrow; blue was not a common color for magic. It had taken me almost a year of study to make my magic any color I wanted. It had no real effect beyond intimidating opponents (or so I thought then). The assassin, though, was unfazed. There suddenly appeared to be 3 figures. My whip sliced easily through all of them, and I turned just in time to see the real person behind me.

I ducked and swung my axe. I’m sure you’ve heard tales of my axe…that wasn’t the famous one, but it was a beauty. All weapons have beauty in them. I was not as skilled with it was I thought I was, but I wasn’t bad, either. I knocked a tiny dagger out of the assassin’s hand, simultaneously shooting out a huge ball of energy. The assassin slid under it, but I had learned to move my energy in ways that they didn’t expect. I felt a brief moment of triumph upon hearing Fikkl’s gasp, seeing the assassin’s eyes widen. Then, deep within the figure’s hood, I saw the flash of teeth; they were grinning.

I stepped back, trying to figure out what was coming next. The figure leapt to their feet and threw several daggers at once. I ducked below the first two, but that took away my maneuverability, and a third stuck into my leg. I grimaced and reached to pull it out. As I did, though, the tip broke off. In any other situation, I probably would’ve laughed. Who used daggers so poorly made that they broke when being thrown?

And then I felt my magic fading from around me. “What—”

I raised my axe defensively, but this time the assassin kicked at my wrist, and I dropped it. The last thing I saw was the figure nod to me, and then something slammed into the back of my head and everything went black.

 

YESSSSSSSSS

[Edema Rue she/her]

Older:

Spoiler

I look into your eyes

And I find myself lost.

I look at you

And I see my own eyes.

I look at you

And I see my nose,

My lips,

My teeth,

My face.

You have my hair,

You have my voice.

People who knew me,

Call you

My name.

 

That can’t be easy,

I know.

Being looked at,

And seen,

As a person,

Who is not you.

It must hurt,

Being constantly watched,

But never

Truly

Seen.

 

I know that it hurts.

And I know

That you

Don’t want to be

Hurt.

And I know

That you

Can’t let

Your pain

Be known.

And so,

When

It hurts,

You make sure

To hurt

The one

Hurting

You.

 

And I guess

That person

Is me.

 

I don’t

Mean to say

That my

Pain is greater

Than yours.

Only that

I

Also

Hurt.

 

Maybe I

Came first

But you

Are the one

They’ll remember.

You

Are the one

They

Always

Always

Love.

 

Maybe I

Am older,

But you

Are allowed

To fail.

You

Don’t need

To be

Better

Than anyone.

 

Maybe I

Am stronger,

But

Somehow

I doubt it.

And if I am,

It won’t

Last

For long.

 

How

Can I love

Anything

When you

Love it

So

Much

Better

Than I

Ever could?

 

How

Can I try

Anything

When you

Follow

And pass me

Then

Look back

Not to help

But to laugh?

 

Because you

Are first

Now.

You

Cross

The finish

Long

Before

Me.

They know

Your name

And not

Mine.

 

All

The love

I

Give,

Is returned

Tenfold…

To you.

 

Not

To me

Never

To me.

All my work

Pays off

In your life.

 

And you

Don’t

Care.

 

I

Don’t want

To be older

Any longer.

Everything

I have

You have

Only better.

More.

More.

More.

 

You

Are everything

I’ll never

Be.

And

So

Much

Younger.

 

[The Wandering Wizard he/him]

1 minute ago, Edema Rue said:

Older:

  Reveal hidden contents

I look into your eyes

And I find myself lost.

I look at you

And I see my own eyes.

I look at you

And I see my nose,

My lips,

My teeth,

My face.

You have my hair,

You have my voice.

People who knew me,

Call you

My name.

 

That can’t be easy,

I know.

Being looked at,

And seen,

As a person,

Who is not you.

It must hurt,

Being constantly watched,

But never

Truly

Seen.

 

I know that it hurts.

And I know

That you

Don’t want to be

Hurt.

And I know

That you

Can’t let

Your pain

Be known.

And so,

When

It hurts,

You make sure

To hurt

The one

Hurting

You.

 

And I guess

That person

Is me.

 

I don’t

Mean to say

That my

Pain is greater

Than yours.

Only that

I

Also

Hurt.

 

Maybe I

Came first

But you

Are the one

They’ll remember.

You

Are the one

They

Always

Always

Love.

 

Maybe I

Am older,

But you

Are allowed

To fail.

You

Don’t need

To be

Better

Than anyone.

 

Maybe I

Am stronger,

But

Somehow

I doubt it.

And if I am,

It won’t

Last

For long.

 

How

Can I love

Anything

When you

Love it

So

Much

Better

Than I

Ever could?

 

How

Can I try

Anything

When you

Follow

And pass me

Then

Look back

Not to help

But to laugh?

 

Because you

Are first

Now.

You

Cross

The finish

Long

Before

Me.

They know

Your name

And not

Mine.

 

All

The love

I

Give,

Is returned

Tenfold…

To you.

 

Not

To me

Never

To me.

All my work

Pays off

In your life.

 

And you

Don’t

Care.

 

I

Don’t want

To be older

Any longer.

Everything

I have

You have

Only better.

More.

More.

More.

 

You

Are everything

I’ll never

Be.

And

So

Much

Younger.

 

*hugs just just hugs*

@Just-A-Stick @Part Of The Narrative

[Just-A-Stick she/her]

10 hours ago, Edema Rue said:

Older:

  Reveal hidden contents

I look into your eyes

And I find myself lost.

I look at you

And I see my own eyes.

I look at you

And I see my nose,

My lips,

My teeth,

My face.

You have my hair,

You have my voice.

People who knew me,

Call you

My name.

 

That can’t be easy,

I know.

Being looked at,

And seen,

As a person,

Who is not you.

It must hurt,

Being constantly watched,

But never

Truly

Seen.

 

I know that it hurts.

And I know

That you

Don’t want to be

Hurt.

And I know

That you

Can’t let

Your pain

Be known.

And so,

When

It hurts,

You make sure

To hurt

The one

Hurting

You.

 

And I guess

That person

Is me.

 

I don’t

Mean to say

That my

Pain is greater

Than yours.

Only that

I

Also

Hurt.

 

Maybe I

Came first

But you

Are the one

They’ll remember.

You

Are the one

They

Always

Always

Love.

 

Maybe I

Am older,

But you

Are allowed

To fail.

You

Don’t need

To be

Better

Than anyone.

 

Maybe I

Am stronger,

But

Somehow

I doubt it.

And if I am,

It won’t

Last

For long.

 

How

Can I love

Anything

When you

Love it

So

Much

Better

Than I

Ever could?

 

How

Can I try

Anything

When you

Follow

And pass me

Then

Look back

Not to help

But to laugh?

 

Because you

Are first

Now.

You

Cross

The finish

Long

Before

Me.

They know

Your name

And not

Mine.

 

All

The love

I

Give,

Is returned

Tenfold…

To you.

 

Not

To me

Never

To me.

All my work

Pays off

In your life.

 

And you

Don’t

Care.

 

I

Don’t want

To be older

Any longer.

Everything

I have

You have

Only better.

More.

More.

More.

 

You

Are everything

I’ll never

Be.

And

So

Much

Younger.

 

wow! Eddie, that's beautiful! 

I love this style of poetry (anyone know what it's called???)

and when I write it, most of my friends (IRL) say it sounds like it should be rapped xD

[Edema Rue she/her]

11 hours ago, The Wandering Wizard said:

*hugs just just hugs*

@Just-A-Stick @Part Of The Narrative

*hugs back*

46 minutes ago, Just-A-Stick said:

wow! Eddie, that's beautiful! 

I love this style of poetry (anyone know what it's called???)

and when I write it, most of my friends (IRL) say it sounds like it should be rapped xD

Thanks Stick! (No clue what it’s called I just write)

[Just-A-Stick she/her]

Okay! I did some research (yay!) and found out that it is called Free Verse.

 

Edited November 18, 2023 by Just-A-Stick

[Edema Rue she/her]

Once:

Spoiler

The girl fell to the floor and looked at the child she used to be. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry I let myself become what you swore I would never be.”

The child looked up, eyes wide. “Are you an angel?”

The girl blinked. “What?”

“You’re so beautiful,” the child said, blinking her big eyes. “You must be an angel.”

“I’m not an angel,” the girl muttered softly. “I’m doing it all wrong.”

“All of it?” The child asked, lip trembling.

“I don’t know,” was the girl’s only response. “I don’t know.

“But you look like an angel,” the child started to say,

“No I don’t,” the girl scoffed. “I have acne and scabs and scars and I’m fat.”

The child was silent for a very long moment, and the girl knew her words were true. She hung her head and started to apologize again, but the child spoke up. “You have pretty hair. And you’re skinnier than me. And I like the scars. They mean we’re brave.”

The girl started to cry then. Tears that had hidden for far too long fell down her cheeks in tiny warm rivers. “I’m not brave,” she said, her voice cracking. “I’m so afraid. I’m so scared, every moment of every day of every week of every month of every year.”

The child stepped forward and gave her a hug. Her nose was running and her hands were sticky, but her eyes were bright and loving and focused. “Do we still read books?”

The girl almost laughed at such an innocent question. She thought about it, though. “Too much,” she said, “but not nearly enough.”

The child nodded solemnly. “And do we have friends?”

The tears fell faster, hotter, saltier. The girl imagined them cutting into her cheeks as they fell, imagined the blood running with them. That would hurt less than the child’s hopeful gaze. “I don’t know,” she said again.

The child started to cry too. “Why?” 

“I don’t know.”

“How do we make it better?”

“I don’t know.”

“Does it ever stop hurting?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you know?”

“I don’t know!” The girl paused, realizing she’d yelled. “Everyone else seems to know. But I don’t. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“I want to know everything,” the child whispered. “Why did you stop learning?”

“I’m so tired.”

“Why can’t you rest?”

“There’s no time.”

The child nodded. “It gets worse, then,” she said, looking miserable. 

“So much worse,” the girl replied, a tear dripping off her chin. Her cheeks were blotchy and red. She looked at the child. The child’s eyes were bright, and hopeful. She looked intelligent and curious. She was so full of life. The child looked back. The girl’s eyes were dull and faded and so, so tired. She was broken. But that isn’t what the child saw. The child saw maturity. Love. Wisdom. The child saw the eyes of someone she’d long dreamed of being.

“I’m glad I get to become you,” the child said softly, calmly. “I’m glad that I get to become an angel.

The girl whimpered. “You don’t understand. You’re dead. You’re dead and I’m still here and you should be here instead of me. It should be you. If it were you, the world would be so much better. You could handle this so much better than I am.”

“No,” the child said simply. “Because I am dead. And you are alive.”

If the girl had had any tears left to cry, she would have. But they were gone, soaked into her shirt and her heart. “I’m so sorry. I gave up on everything you loved.”

“Then I must not have loved them any longer,” the child said, though the words broke her heart.

“But we did.”

“Then why did you stop?”

“I don’t know.”

“I think…” the child frowned, concentrating. “I think it’s okay not to know.”

“But I want to know.”

The child smiled, closing her eyes. “We’ll know it all someday, okay?”

“Okay.” And then the child faded. The child was gone. The child had been gone for years, far too many years, just long enough that the girl could finally realize that she needed the child, needed the hope, the light, the joy in those perfect young eyes. And just long enough that the girl had realized that such a wish, like all her wishes, was impossible. But somehow,

The girl,

Broken and alone,

Left by even the person she had once been,

Looked up to the stars and to her god. Looked up from a muddy world that had chained her down since she had let the child die. 

The girl looked up. And she smiled.

 

[The Wandering Wizard he/him]

17 minutes ago, Edema Rue said:

Once:

  Hide contents

The girl fell to the floor and looked at the child she used to be. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry I let myself become what you swore I would never be.”

The child looked up, eyes wide. “Are you an angel?”

The girl blinked. “What?”

“You’re so beautiful,” the child said, blinking her big eyes. “You must be an angel.”

“I’m not an angel,” the girl muttered softly. “I’m doing it all wrong.”

“All of it?” The child asked, lip trembling.

“I don’t know,” was the girl’s only response. “I don’t know.

“But you look like an angel,” the child started to say,

“No I don’t,” the girl scoffed. “I have acne and scabs and scars and I’m fat.”

The child was silent for a very long moment, and the girl knew her words were true. She hung her head and started to apologize again, but the child spoke up. “You have pretty hair. And you’re skinnier than me. And I like the scars. They mean we’re brave.”

The girl started to cry then. Tears that had hidden for far too long fell down her cheeks in tiny warm rivers. “I’m not brave,” she said, her voice cracking. “I’m so afraid. I’m so scared, every moment of every day of every week of every month of every year.”

The child stepped forward and gave her a hug. Her nose was running and her hands were sticky, but her eyes were bright and loving and focused. “Do we still read books?”

The girl almost laughed at such an innocent question. She thought about it, though. “Too much,” she said, “but not nearly enough.”

The child nodded solemnly. “And do we have friends?”

The tears fell faster, hotter, saltier. The girl imagined them cutting into her cheeks as they fell, imagined the blood running with them. That would hurt less than the child’s hopeful gaze. “I don’t know,” she said again.

The child started to cry too. “Why?” 

“I don’t know.”

“How do we make it better?”

“I don’t know.”

“Does it ever stop hurting?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you know?”

“I don’t know!” The girl paused, realizing she’d yelled. “Everyone else seems to know. But I don’t. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“I want to know everything,” the child whispered. “Why did you stop learning?”

“I’m so tired.”

“Why can’t you rest?”

“There’s no time.”

The child nodded. “It gets worse, then,” she said, looking miserable. 

“So much worse,” the girl replied, a tear dripping off her chin. Her cheeks were blotchy and red. She looked at the child. The child’s eyes were bright, and hopeful. She looked intelligent and curious. She was so full of life. The child looked back. The girl’s eyes were dull and faded and so, so tired. She was broken. But that isn’t what the child saw. The child saw maturity. Love. Wisdom. The child saw the eyes of someone she’d long dreamed of being.

“I’m glad I get to become you,” the child said softly, calmly. “I’m glad that I get to become an angel.

The girl whimpered. “You don’t understand. You’re dead. You’re dead and I’m still here and you should be here instead of me. It should be you. If it were you, the world would be so much better. You could handle this so much better than I am.”

“No,” the child said simply. “Because I am dead. And you are alive.”

If the girl had had any tears left to cry, she would have. But they were gone, soaked into her shirt and her heart. “I’m so sorry. I gave up on everything you loved.”

“Then I must not have loved them any longer,” the child said, though the words broke her heart.

“But we did.”

“Then why did you stop?”

“I don’t know.”

“I think…” the child frowned, concentrating. “I think it’s okay not to know.”

“But I want to know.”

The child smiled, closing her eyes. “We’ll know it all someday, okay?”

“Okay.” And then the child faded. The child was gone. The child had been gone for years, far too many years, just long enough that the girl could finally realize that she needed the child, needed the hope, the light, the joy in those perfect young eyes. And just long enough that the girl had realized that such a wish, like all her wishes, was impossible. But somehow,

The girl,

Broken and alone,

Left by even the person she had once been,

Looked up to the stars and to her god. Looked up from a muddy world that had chained her down since she had let the child die. 

The girl looked up. And she smiled.

 

*hugs the hug of a best friend sibling*

<333

[Edema Rue she/her]

7 hours ago, The Wandering Wizard said:

*hugs the hug of a best friend sibling*

<333

*hugs back*

[TheRavenHasLanded he/him]

7 hours ago, Edema Rue said:

Once:

  Hide contents

The girl fell to the floor and looked at the child she used to be. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry I let myself become what you swore I would never be.”

The child looked up, eyes wide. “Are you an angel?”

The girl blinked. “What?”

“You’re so beautiful,” the child said, blinking her big eyes. “You must be an angel.”

“I’m not an angel,” the girl muttered softly. “I’m doing it all wrong.”

“All of it?” The child asked, lip trembling.

“I don’t know,” was the girl’s only response. “I don’t know.

“But you look like an angel,” the child started to say,

“No I don’t,” the girl scoffed. “I have acne and scabs and scars and I’m fat.”

The child was silent for a very long moment, and the girl knew her words were true. She hung her head and started to apologize again, but the child spoke up. “You have pretty hair. And you’re skinnier than me. And I like the scars. They mean we’re brave.”

The girl started to cry then. Tears that had hidden for far too long fell down her cheeks in tiny warm rivers. “I’m not brave,” she said, her voice cracking. “I’m so afraid. I’m so scared, every moment of every day of every week of every month of every year.”

The child stepped forward and gave her a hug. Her nose was running and her hands were sticky, but her eyes were bright and loving and focused. “Do we still read books?”

The girl almost laughed at such an innocent question. She thought about it, though. “Too much,” she said, “but not nearly enough.”

The child nodded solemnly. “And do we have friends?”

The tears fell faster, hotter, saltier. The girl imagined them cutting into her cheeks as they fell, imagined the blood running with them. That would hurt less than the child’s hopeful gaze. “I don’t know,” she said again.

The child started to cry too. “Why?” 

“I don’t know.”

“How do we make it better?”

“I don’t know.”

“Does it ever stop hurting?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you know?”

“I don’t know!” The girl paused, realizing she’d yelled. “Everyone else seems to know. But I don’t. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“I want to know everything,” the child whispered. “Why did you stop learning?”

“I’m so tired.”

“Why can’t you rest?”

“There’s no time.”

The child nodded. “It gets worse, then,” she said, looking miserable. 

“So much worse,” the girl replied, a tear dripping off her chin. Her cheeks were blotchy and red. She looked at the child. The child’s eyes were bright, and hopeful. She looked intelligent and curious. She was so full of life. The child looked back. The girl’s eyes were dull and faded and so, so tired. She was broken. But that isn’t what the child saw. The child saw maturity. Love. Wisdom. The child saw the eyes of someone she’d long dreamed of being.

“I’m glad I get to become you,” the child said softly, calmly. “I’m glad that I get to become an angel.

The girl whimpered. “You don’t understand. You’re dead. You’re dead and I’m still here and you should be here instead of me. It should be you. If it were you, the world would be so much better. You could handle this so much better than I am.”

“No,” the child said simply. “Because I am dead. And you are alive.”

If the girl had had any tears left to cry, she would have. But they were gone, soaked into her shirt and her heart. “I’m so sorry. I gave up on everything you loved.”

“Then I must not have loved them any longer,” the child said, though the words broke her heart.

“But we did.”

“Then why did you stop?”

“I don’t know.”

“I think…” the child frowned, concentrating. “I think it’s okay not to know.”

“But I want to know.”

The child smiled, closing her eyes. “We’ll know it all someday, okay?”

“Okay.” And then the child faded. The child was gone. The child had been gone for years, far too many years, just long enough that the girl could finally realize that she needed the child, needed the hope, the light, the joy in those perfect young eyes. And just long enough that the girl had realized that such a wish, like all her wishes, was impossible. But somehow,

The girl,

Broken and alone,

Left by even the person she had once been,

Looked up to the stars and to her god. Looked up from a muddy world that had chained her down since she had let the child die. 

The girl looked up. And she smiled.

 

god- incredible.

[Edema Rue she/her]

4 minutes ago, TheRavenHasLanded said:

god- incredible.

Thank you!!

[Just a Silvereye he/him]

7 hours ago, Edema Rue said:

Once:

  Hide contents

The girl fell to the floor and looked at the child she used to be. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry I let myself become what you swore I would never be.”

The child looked up, eyes wide. “Are you an angel?”

The girl blinked. “What?”

“You’re so beautiful,” the child said, blinking her big eyes. “You must be an angel.”

“I’m not an angel,” the girl muttered softly. “I’m doing it all wrong.”

“All of it?” The child asked, lip trembling.

“I don’t know,” was the girl’s only response. “I don’t know.

“But you look like an angel,” the child started to say,

“No I don’t,” the girl scoffed. “I have acne and scabs and scars and I’m fat.”

The child was silent for a very long moment, and the girl knew her words were true. She hung her head and started to apologize again, but the child spoke up. “You have pretty hair. And you’re skinnier than me. And I like the scars. They mean we’re brave.”

The girl started to cry then. Tears that had hidden for far too long fell down her cheeks in tiny warm rivers. “I’m not brave,” she said, her voice cracking. “I’m so afraid. I’m so scared, every moment of every day of every week of every month of every year.”

The child stepped forward and gave her a hug. Her nose was running and her hands were sticky, but her eyes were bright and loving and focused. “Do we still read books?”

The girl almost laughed at such an innocent question. She thought about it, though. “Too much,” she said, “but not nearly enough.”

The child nodded solemnly. “And do we have friends?”

The tears fell faster, hotter, saltier. The girl imagined them cutting into her cheeks as they fell, imagined the blood running with them. That would hurt less than the child’s hopeful gaze. “I don’t know,” she said again.

The child started to cry too. “Why?” 

“I don’t know.”

“How do we make it better?”

“I don’t know.”

“Does it ever stop hurting?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you know?”

“I don’t know!” The girl paused, realizing she’d yelled. “Everyone else seems to know. But I don’t. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“I want to know everything,” the child whispered. “Why did you stop learning?”

“I’m so tired.”

“Why can’t you rest?”

“There’s no time.”

The child nodded. “It gets worse, then,” she said, looking miserable. 

“So much worse,” the girl replied, a tear dripping off her chin. Her cheeks were blotchy and red. She looked at the child. The child’s eyes were bright, and hopeful. She looked intelligent and curious. She was so full of life. The child looked back. The girl’s eyes were dull and faded and so, so tired. She was broken. But that isn’t what the child saw. The child saw maturity. Love. Wisdom. The child saw the eyes of someone she’d long dreamed of being.

“I’m glad I get to become you,” the child said softly, calmly. “I’m glad that I get to become an angel.

The girl whimpered. “You don’t understand. You’re dead. You’re dead and I’m still here and you should be here instead of me. It should be you. If it were you, the world would be so much better. You could handle this so much better than I am.”

“No,” the child said simply. “Because I am dead. And you are alive.”

If the girl had had any tears left to cry, she would have. But they were gone, soaked into her shirt and her heart. “I’m so sorry. I gave up on everything you loved.”

“Then I must not have loved them any longer,” the child said, though the words broke her heart.

“But we did.”

“Then why did you stop?”

“I don’t know.”

“I think…” the child frowned, concentrating. “I think it’s okay not to know.”

“But I want to know.”

The child smiled, closing her eyes. “We’ll know it all someday, okay?”

“Okay.” And then the child faded. The child was gone. The child had been gone for years, far too many years, just long enough that the girl could finally realize that she needed the child, needed the hope, the light, the joy in those perfect young eyes. And just long enough that the girl had realized that such a wish, like all her wishes, was impossible. But somehow,

The girl,

Broken and alone,

Left by even the person she had once been,

Looked up to the stars and to her god. Looked up from a muddy world that had chained her down since she had let the child die. 

The girl looked up. And she smiled.

 

I almost cried when reading this.

Thank you.

[Edema Rue she/her]

12 minutes ago, Just a Silvereye said:

I almost cried when reading this.

Thank you.

*hugs* Thank you.