feeling whump-y wren muse @Akavir and/or @Germanicus if either of u want to deal with this mess
Mature Content Warning
This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: blatant depictions of post traumatic stress and grief, some violence/death and implied abuse, generally fucked up and very very sad themes
It's the middle of the night and she feels like she might be dying.
Her back is pressed against Akavir's chest, and she can feel the shallow breaths he takes as he sleeps. His arm is slung around her, rested upon her shoulder, and when she looks above, it is a cloudless view. To ease the quickened pace of her heart, she starts to count the stars.
But it's not long before they start feeling as though they may fall on her, and her vision warps as the inkblot sky closes in.
And so she decides to peel herself away, drifting from him gently in hopes of not awakening him. And she starts to walk. Right past Germanicus, right past their tiny makeshift camp on the side of the mountain, and well into the brush. She'd become careless, the snapping of twigs beneath her a clear sign of her presence to anyone else who may have been lingering, but it mattered not.
She walks, until she doesn't realize that she's not moving anymore and she's collapsed into a heap with her back pressed to the crest of a boulder.
She is four months old as of yesterday with round eyes and a gap in her incisors, and her mother's tongue smooths out the fur that tops her forehead. Piccola mia, she'd hear her say, and she'd brush it off with a stai zitta!, and they'd fall into a pile of laughter that dissolves as the thump of footsteps are heard just down the hall. She is four months old, as of yesterday, and she hides behind her mother from the man who should have been protecting them.
She is six months and five days old with spider-limbs and big ears, guard hairs that are finally starting to even out. Stai diventando grande! She'd hear the looming voice from just around the corner, the leering grin as a paw is placed on the small of her back. I wish you'd stay little forever. And in some ways, she wished she would have too. She longs for a home that was not there as his teeth latch onto her skin.
She is nine months and two weeks old, and her little body has become a shield while her sister wails behind her. Her shoulder is wet with tears, tears that are mot her own, and there are pleads of Daddy, don't do it, please, please, please, and she doesn't remember which one of them started screaming first.
She is one year, three months, and sixteen days old, and she feels the warm iron of blood splatter on her cheek and the snap is heard around the world. She is one year, three months, and sixteen days old, and she is clutching the corpse of her Mommy even as there are tugs trying to tell her to let go before Daddy gets back. She is crying for her, and she cannot hear it.
She is two years and three months old, as of today, and she is rocking back and forth with her face lodged between two forepaws, and she doesn't remember what color Mommy's eyes were anymore. She wishes she had woken Akavir. She's glad she didn't. She wishes she never had to see Germanicus again. He looks like Daddy and she doesn't like it.
Her back is pressed against Akavir's chest, and she can feel the shallow breaths he takes as he sleeps. His arm is slung around her, rested upon her shoulder, and when she looks above, it is a cloudless view. To ease the quickened pace of her heart, she starts to count the stars.
But it's not long before they start feeling as though they may fall on her, and her vision warps as the inkblot sky closes in.
And so she decides to peel herself away, drifting from him gently in hopes of not awakening him. And she starts to walk. Right past Germanicus, right past their tiny makeshift camp on the side of the mountain, and well into the brush. She'd become careless, the snapping of twigs beneath her a clear sign of her presence to anyone else who may have been lingering, but it mattered not.
She walks, until she doesn't realize that she's not moving anymore and she's collapsed into a heap with her back pressed to the crest of a boulder.
She is four months old as of yesterday with round eyes and a gap in her incisors, and her mother's tongue smooths out the fur that tops her forehead. Piccola mia, she'd hear her say, and she'd brush it off with a stai zitta!, and they'd fall into a pile of laughter that dissolves as the thump of footsteps are heard just down the hall. She is four months old, as of yesterday, and she hides behind her mother from the man who should have been protecting them.
She is six months and five days old with spider-limbs and big ears, guard hairs that are finally starting to even out. Stai diventando grande! She'd hear the looming voice from just around the corner, the leering grin as a paw is placed on the small of her back. I wish you'd stay little forever. And in some ways, she wished she would have too. She longs for a home that was not there as his teeth latch onto her skin.
She is nine months and two weeks old, and her little body has become a shield while her sister wails behind her. Her shoulder is wet with tears, tears that are mot her own, and there are pleads of Daddy, don't do it, please, please, please, and she doesn't remember which one of them started screaming first.
She is one year, three months, and sixteen days old, and she feels the warm iron of blood splatter on her cheek and the snap is heard around the world. She is one year, three months, and sixteen days old, and she is clutching the corpse of her Mommy even as there are tugs trying to tell her to let go before Daddy gets back. She is crying for her, and she cannot hear it.
She is two years and three months old, as of today, and she is rocking back and forth with her face lodged between two forepaws, and she doesn't remember what color Mommy's eyes were anymore. She wishes she had woken Akavir. She's glad she didn't. She wishes she never had to see Germanicus again. He looks like Daddy and she doesn't like it.
She is two years and three months old. She wants to go home, but she doesn't know where that is.
« Next Oldest | Next Newest »
Messages In This Thread
a brain on fire at the center of things - by Wren - June 25, 2023, 05:40 PM