i'll be damned if i end up playing Job with god's loving hand on my throat
184 Posts
Ooc — e
Away
@Cortland
The priest's breakdown was evident to any. Poet spends her time trying to soothe him, bring him back from wherever his religious fervor has stolen him. She grooms him and plies him with lavender, with rose, but to no avail. She does not stop him from leaving. Perhaps that is her failing.
It is unlike Phocion to be gone for too long, and as the hours melt into days, reality begins to dawn on her.
Cruel practicality has always been her stalwart companion. She does not dare leave the Mountain, remaining in their fragile claim as many days as she can allow both her and Cortland to hold onto hope. She attends to him in silence, lulling herself to sleep at night on the gentle caress of poppy.
She wakes up weeping and knows: this is the end.
Had she loved Phocion? In a way, yes; in a way, given time, that could have blossomed into something more, something she desired but did not let herself admit. (If she'd told him, perhaps... but it is too traumatic to trace that line of thought.) Here she lets herself feel it, in the stifling heat of the summer morning, retreating out of the den to spare Cortland her sobs. This is her moment of weakness, earned. And when it is done, she will make their beds and bring them back into the light, just as she's always done.
The priest's breakdown was evident to any. Poet spends her time trying to soothe him, bring him back from wherever his religious fervor has stolen him. She grooms him and plies him with lavender, with rose, but to no avail. She does not stop him from leaving. Perhaps that is her failing.
It is unlike Phocion to be gone for too long, and as the hours melt into days, reality begins to dawn on her.
Cruel practicality has always been her stalwart companion. She does not dare leave the Mountain, remaining in their fragile claim as many days as she can allow both her and Cortland to hold onto hope. She attends to him in silence, lulling herself to sleep at night on the gentle caress of poppy.
She wakes up weeping and knows: this is the end.
Had she loved Phocion? In a way, yes; in a way, given time, that could have blossomed into something more, something she desired but did not let herself admit. (If she'd told him, perhaps... but it is too traumatic to trace that line of thought.) Here she lets herself feel it, in the stifling heat of the summer morning, retreating out of the den to spare Cortland her sobs. This is her moment of weakness, earned. And when it is done, she will make their beds and bring them back into the light, just as she's always done.
« Next Oldest | Next Newest »
Messages In This Thread
You understand: there is no house, there is no breakfast - by Hamartia - July 17, 2018, 11:54 AM
RE: You understand: there is no house, there is no breakfast - by Cortland - July 22, 2018, 01:53 PM
RE: You understand: there is no house, there is no breakfast - by Hamartia - July 24, 2018, 12:49 PM