#i need to dissect their relationship though how absolutely intriguing and sad 🫠

[mudandmire]

Day Two: Childhood/Legacy

❤️‍🔥What is this? Why is this? I dunno folks; poem or blurb or 1am ramble, it is here so. voila. It's very short, but I wanted to do at least something for @erisweekofficial day 2, and this is all I could do with my schedule right now❤️‍🔥

To Ache

-

Eris pauses at the door of his mother's chambers, fingers lightly curled around the handle. There's a bleeding stain of tea cooling against his trousers, but his eyes are glazed as they wash over it as he waits for—something.

The yearning blooms open, an internal bruise that never heals right. Like a bone set wrong, forever forced to mold himself, body and soul, around it.

The air in his lungs is held still, anticipating whatever had frozen his movements, that aching contusion that stretches along the tender muscle of his heart—

'Eris.'

It's soft, ringing slightly, and Eris' body flushes cold and hot in the span of a rapid heartbeat.

He listens for it again, breath held. When nothing follows, he realizes with a clench of his fist around the handle, the rush of his pulse sounds a lot like a whisper in the silent room.

Whatever rises to the back of his throat at the chasm of distance between where the Lady of Autumn sits outside, admiring the jeweled canopy and where Eris stands frozen to the floor, he swallows down. It's a lump in his throat, a cry on his tongue—it is juvenile, and foolish, yet he cannot help his heart from begging.

Please, he wishes to himself silently, head bowed in front of the door. Please turn around. Please look at me.

Eris listens for the rustle of fabric from her dress, the soft inhale she would take at seeing him still standing there.

Please. His pulse is a white water rush in his head, near drowning in his longing.

Please let me bury my hands in your skirts, even though they are far too calloused to be a child's.

Please let me wail into your lap, even though it is something far too bloody to have ever been innocent.

Please, amma, he thinks to himself, the breath he loses grip of coming out a silent sob, let me weep.

It is childish to wish anyone heard him. But in this room something makes him wish it anyway.

Eris inhales deeply, steadily. Leaving the naive breaks in his armor at his feet as he levels his chin, like the tea cup he shattered not moments ago. His fingers close with practiced determination around the handle, and turns it.

His walk out of the room; with it's draped fabric and sunlit balcony, can only be purposeful. The door closes softly, a whispered sigh behind him. Eris does not think about his abandoned heart, its twists of anguish left in his child-sized palms. It would do him no good to linger on such ancient hurts.

Instead, Eris will settle for the memory of a chipped tea cup, a secret smile tucked into the rosy corners of cheeks, and the silken fall of copper hair the same shade as his.

-

ahh yes how sweet the tragedy of Eris and his Mother. I call her Seraphina in my head, because I just need girlie to have a name.

Honestly I had made the mood board thing months ago so it's nice I have a chance to use it now :>