09-09-2018, 09:42 PM
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as love filled night gives way to day
Hazel knew the shallow ends of slavery - that was, the punishment that made it so. When a chore was not completed, her food was taken for the week; when something broke, she was the one to fall on its glass and mop away the spots of blood; and when there was nothing, Hazel was the one to suffocate in the closet full of chemicals. Now, she bore the storms of her childhood on her body: thin lines of memories, permanently stained against her skin.
Today, she had managed to make it farther than the observatory doors, for which she should be proud. Unfortunately, her mind was blankly occupied with grief most days, unwilling to bend to external events. That was, until the lilt of Latin brushed against her ear. Most was recognizable: Ovid, something Hazel knew well. She recalled Bastille reading much of it to her, switching between Latin and English for the sake of teaching her the latter language. It felt like water against a burn, soothing and soft - and cold. Cold for the memory of Margaery's lips forming similar words, speaking to Hazel or someone else.
"Quo dum Proserpine luco, ludit et aut violas aut candida lilia carpit, dumque puellari studio calathosque sinumque, inplet et aequales certat superare legendo, paene simul visa est dilectaque raptaque Diti: usque adeo est properatus amor." Hazel murmured, nearly to herself. It was almost a mantra; almost an attempt to ground herself, but it did little to push away the memories of Margy.
About to lose herself to memory, Hazel was suddenly snapped out of her trance by Feyre's ridiculous sentence. The cocoa feline stopped short, just next to Bast, staring at Fey with a feverish sort of amusement. A grin cracked her lips as iron pyrite cracked the earth, a delirious giggle falling from her tongue at the young girl's attempt. It was the first time she'd laughed in days - and her features already felt sore. Explaining it would have been hard, and Hazel couldn't have deemed it real laughter, but she felt lighter...she felt a need to thank Feyre.
"We'll have to start you on lessons," Hazel suggested, soft with fondness. Temporarily clinging to the feeling of sun, Hazel turned her attention to the direwolf rinsing himself of gold. Her eyes, brighter than before, watched with a heavy curiosity, saucer wide at his size and manner. "Hello," She greeted, not acknowledging the crack of her uneven voice. "Are you looking for a place to stay?"
Today, she had managed to make it farther than the observatory doors, for which she should be proud. Unfortunately, her mind was blankly occupied with grief most days, unwilling to bend to external events. That was, until the lilt of Latin brushed against her ear. Most was recognizable: Ovid, something Hazel knew well. She recalled Bastille reading much of it to her, switching between Latin and English for the sake of teaching her the latter language. It felt like water against a burn, soothing and soft - and cold. Cold for the memory of Margaery's lips forming similar words, speaking to Hazel or someone else.
"Quo dum Proserpine luco, ludit et aut violas aut candida lilia carpit, dumque puellari studio calathosque sinumque, inplet et aequales certat superare legendo, paene simul visa est dilectaque raptaque Diti: usque adeo est properatus amor." Hazel murmured, nearly to herself. It was almost a mantra; almost an attempt to ground herself, but it did little to push away the memories of Margy.
About to lose herself to memory, Hazel was suddenly snapped out of her trance by Feyre's ridiculous sentence. The cocoa feline stopped short, just next to Bast, staring at Fey with a feverish sort of amusement. A grin cracked her lips as iron pyrite cracked the earth, a delirious giggle falling from her tongue at the young girl's attempt. It was the first time she'd laughed in days - and her features already felt sore. Explaining it would have been hard, and Hazel couldn't have deemed it real laughter, but she felt lighter...she felt a need to thank Feyre.
"We'll have to start you on lessons," Hazel suggested, soft with fondness. Temporarily clinging to the feeling of sun, Hazel turned her attention to the direwolf rinsing himself of gold. Her eyes, brighter than before, watched with a heavy curiosity, saucer wide at his size and manner. "Hello," She greeted, not acknowledging the crack of her uneven voice. "Are you looking for a place to stay?"
© MADI
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WITH EVERY HEARTBEAT I HAVE LEFT
i will defend your every breath; i'll do better