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mononijikayu · 9 months

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to build a home ━ geto suguru ft nanami kento.

That was the end of it. They can't take much more of this pain. Suffering for a goodbye that would never be repeated. This cannot be true. They reflected to themselves. You also have a life. A different way of living. It's unjust to Kento, to blame him for their loneliness, their suffering. It's unjust to them, it's unjust to Suguru. They must make the first step. To make it final. To let him go for good. This is what saves them, this is what graces them in front of god.

note: i found an old draft of something i did and i thought it would be perfect for an angsty suguru writing, especially after rewatching fleabag. i started to joke yesterday that i'll do a suguru partner to 'time after time' and here we are now, me crying over what i made.

the final scene is inspired by the ending of fleabag. i cried through it but it really was something that triggered my heart strings. every good love story deserves a good closure when it ends. happy christmas again!!! let's hope this is my last idea in a while!!! its starting to make me cry too <333

Genre: No Curses AU, Priest Suguru AU, Fleabag AU;

Warning/s: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, First Love, Grief, First Heartbreak, Break Up, Emotional Scars, Forbidden Love, Star Crossed Lovers, Closure to Healing;

masterlist

play: to build a home by cinematic orchestra.

THEY DOESN’T KNOW WHY THEY WERE HERE IN THE FIRST PLACE. The mass of such a dull cup was ultimately the most significant in that moment, reminding her of the heaviness that pounded through her shoulders. While they drank, their bright eyes shot into the already icy black pools. They could feel it, the way their pulse thumping with the power only felt when a hammer slams on an anvil.

A drop of black coffee shouldn't be pouring on the surface of that gleaming white envelope, their familiar seal on the edge. Like it used to when they were younger. Their pupils constricted as the cup clicked on the surface of the little chilly plate. The question resurfaced in their mind as if it had not already been blatantly obvious to themselves.

‘Why am I so scared?’ The words echoed in their head, silently. ‘What does it matter if it spills or not? It’s just an envelope.’

Though that wasn't just any ordinary envelope. They pursued their lips as the truth revealed everything without care for a wait. They felt another flurry of child-like recklessness within them once again. For a brief moment, their warm gaze was visible. The lost purity of their youth, which they had thought to have lost long ago, had reappeared. They sighed, unsure of what to do.

The icy loneliness of the envelope's borders, as it sat calmly discarded not far away from them, made it impossible to convey to them. The soft whisper of darkened skies made it impossible to tell if it was morning. Yet within their memories, the brightness of the morning dawn has always resonated with a pleasant unattainable radiance. They couldn't sleep again today. That day kept returning to the young soul. They felt as though it was akin to another grievous reminder of those warm-hearted charcoal eyes they had once loved.

They lowered their head, almost ashamed. All they could feel inside of them was that searing anguish filling their heart with nothing but agony. There was no peace in the confines of their heart. There is no peace on those nights, even if the moon sings pleasant things to soothe her to sleep. They knew that there was nothing but horrors. He visited their dreams almost every night.

He smiled so beautifully against the shine of the moon. Like that summer night where they first kissed. They were letting all the memories they had buried haunt them. These nightmares always comprised the sweetest smiles and bitter goodbyes. The cozy bed had somehow become an opponent. It seemed as though they were wallowing in a terrible abyss of quicksand in the luxuries of their cold feather bed, with no way out. It didn't help to stay unmoving, alone in this unmade bed, staring up at the plain white ceiling.

They had loved Kento enough; They truly did. But he wasn't home, he wasn't there to fill that space. To replace that emptiness, to make a home out of the numb loneliness. he was a merchant by trade. The nomad who ceaselessly took the opportunity that life had to offer. Yet he too was a serious man who took his responsibilities to the people he loved seriously as long as he could. Yet Kento was someone who had no permanence in the warmth of home.

When he was home, it was something that still showed the gaps, the distance that had come with their degree of separation. Their little arrangement, their little life together, had once been beautiful at one point. But now all it does is make them lonely, now it makes them infuriated. Yet there was no one left to blame.

What was there to be angry about? He needed to keep what life being lived going, much of that relied on him. There was little to complain about, when they agreed about it before they had decided to become one. After all, these years had been lived in a garden of thorns. Nothing was easy.

They should be thankful he had worked at all. Others have had a harder time than them, losing homes and the meal on the dinner table. Yet in Kento’s absence, their gaping heart was filled with those bright beaming memories of their first love. Everything about those memories were painted in vibrant pastels. Everything was so bright and new.

He smiled at them, rushing toward them direction as his dark locks spun across the pillows like a constellation weaving through the wide open sky. On those lonely nights, they did not want to think of him as much as they did. But one never forgets that long lost love. In those nights, they could not admit to anything but anguish and pointing fingers, blaming Kento for not being by their side. They wanted to blame him. It was easier that way, blaming the man they had committed to life with.

Because they cannot stop thinking of his eyes that narrowed down at them tenderly. They couldn't get those memories out of their head, their mind craved everything about that charming man who had captured this wanting heart all those years ago. They had created quite a world, nay a universe, just for him.

Everything within that universe was devoted to cherishing, worshiping memories of that man already dried in the inked pages. But they could not help it. Geto Suguru was too hard to forget, too hard to bury in the past. When you fall in love the first time, nothing ever comes close. Nothing ever comes to be beyond the world that had embraced them for years and years.

How much they had remembered all those years of being in his strong, warm arms. The repeatedly lonesome bed trapped and bound their body and soul to the seclusion of the darkness. Their feet were firmly planted on the floor, their body towering over the diner. Arms resting upon their chest, the echoes of their heart beat unlike any other. They knew that they had no feeling of coherence. Nothing felt real, nothing felt true. Everything had been a blur—a never-ending darkness that had cleared them completely, leaving nothing but a void.

They recalled the way they had carelessly bruised themselves when they had awoken from another nightmare. Mindlessly, They walked in the dark narrow halls as quietly as they could. They did not wish to wake Kento’s father from his slumber, not when he was ill. Their hands had been weak as they stumbled into the kitchen to get the warm water pitcher. There were no tears streaming from their weary eyes.

There was no sound from their lips, and no effort had been taken to prevent the spreading of shattered glass. They simply stared. They had no sense of sanity. There is no reality meter to gauge their consciousness. Simply as motionless as the fruit resting on the marble counter. They watched as the overflowing water pooled through the broken whole like a deluge had challenged the pieces of glass across the floor.

"Why am I doing this?" Their thin crimson lips let out a quiet whimper as they bowed their fatigued head in the heavenly air. Their brilliantly bright bonnet trailed behind them, shielding their eyes. "There's nothing else to say. I said that last time.....He was the one that said goodbye. I've been doing so great. And now….."

Yet somehow, They couldn't tear their attention away from the envelope, that begged bare fingertips for their warmth to give life to the inanimate pages of living, haunting love. To whisper those same words of affection that they had abandoned years ago, to match the fondness of the words within its frames. Their index finger marched forward, unafraid. The brightness of the platinum band on their ring finger reprimanded them in a scolding glow at that time.

They hesitated once more, their heart beating harshly against the flesh of their body. The reign of fears killed the resolute strength within them. They bite tenderly at their lower lip in anxious softness. They had made their peace with everything a long time ago, at least that is what they said. So there was no reason to be misled, to be misled by feelings settled in the corner of the mind’s palace. The shadows of their face reverberate like a ghost that begs to be finally laid to rest as the light weakly glows.

Yet, just like a wandering phantom wishing for relief, They realize that this was heaven’s bestowed fate. To be bound to the barren earth with the haunting memories of the life that had been lived like a gramaphone on repeat. To travel through the life they may have had, to torment her like her into a never-ending misery-like haunting bestiality. A never-ending hell that never ends.

Moving steadily, They held her hands into a chain, They felt the unending chill that only winter could provide. Is this how it has been for all this time since they split up? Have they truly been this miserable? Have they truly abandoned themselves to the abyss of grief, of longing? Of yearning for something that will never return?

The spring they had loved has yielded to winter, its vivacity has long since faded. They knew that too well. But they could not help but return to spring in long locked away memories. That spring was where they can admit they had been the happiest. The truest to themselves. Because he was there.

It was because Geto Suguru had been the melody of that song through the truth of the heart. Suguru's youth belonged to them. As much as they knew that their own youth belonged to him. That spring was for the two of them to own, only theirs and no one else’s. Greedily, that’s what they believed.

Those blooming flowers formed their gentle smile and made their heart pulse with the thrill that came with young love. It was the way he laughed so boyishly as he raced the length of the flower fields. Their eager gaze followed him, the wind eager to dance across those flower fields. The crinkle of mischief drifts through the sky to mingle with the beam of rainbow lights.

The lark eyed young man looked at them as though it was like sunflower beams. The loving words seemingly flowed out like lovely echoes of hummingbird melodies. There had been the sweet touch of hands wrapped around them with such happiness, the delight of being together as the sound of the river's quiet whistles.

It all came flooding home, that mellow breeze that led their love, in each and every moment they traveled the paths they had taken, arms locked together. Nobody had an inkling. Not even their parents. The spring dalliance, that became so much bigger of a world than anything else, was all their own.

It had been the perfect love, belonging to the two of them. The only one they had told had been their uncle Yaga. He took pity on a broken soul, they knew. Those eyes filled with such wrestling grief. That conflict, that wanting, that yearning. He knew it too well. It was his kindness that allowed her to escape Tokyo after Suguru parted from them, to save her from growing mad.

Away from those dark eyes that continued to watch over them in the distance. Those lark bright that only mourned him just as much as they did. There was an echo in their soul which reached out to him, spoke in such a terrible voice; a voice they didn't even remember having. It had been so loud and angry. Yet Suguru merely smiled at them, ever so mournful as theirs was.

'I mourn the person we once were,” He whispered to them in the tender gaze of the altar, looking at them as their voice echoed in the basilica's bright glass windows. “Such brilliant splendor that’s long past us now, my love.”

They could not help but feel melancholy about remembering the spring. They had come to hate it, even Kento just knew. Barely leaving their studio, abandoning the sight of warm blossoms of roses across the neighbor's front lawn. They decided to have to care for it any longer. It was too fleeting. Too young, too eager. Things that they were no longer. Spring provides us with a small sliver of careless youth.

The flowers in that spring bloomed, as did the love they both thought was impossible. However, spring must always give way to the beginning of fall. It was now October, and the hardest rain was anxiously awaiting freezing into the hammering winter cold. One in which They had come to be caged in. Like dragons of old who lived in caves in the abandon of endless silence. Alone to dwell on what was and what could have been in the present, which only deepens their agony.

It was the most heartbreaking moment of their existence. To watch the etches of their fair face contort to grief, to fear and to tears. The tears they had wished they had never come to shed. Suguru had been the one to tell them, to relay those words that ripped them apart like a harsh ocean wave rushing through.

The words of their father, the words of a man who used the woman he said he loved like a chess piece. To further his rise to the top of politics. They had been young then, when their father had bragged of doing such a thing. Of hurting their mother like it was a holy act in the eyes of god.

When Suguru informed them that he cannot be with them any longer, they were taken back to that memory of their father. That heartache that shattered the dreams of a child. Nothing was absolute in the world, not even love. Not the way they had wanted. Not the way Suguru desired. It was to be a sin, a sin that would go against the word of the holy book he considered ever so sacred.

It was Suguru’s path, he told them so clearly, hammered with familiar hurt—one that reminded them of their own grief. The two of them sat on the bed they used to sleep in together, the sunshine dulled by the venomous dark clouds which had gathered to see such a scene. But they remembered the distance that had formed in the sky. They remembered how warmly the tears of parting fell, one after another like the pouring rain. The warmth of the pillows grew cold with the solemn shadow of their own body.

As they sat there immobilized, their eyes began to echo bloodshot red. Their habitually loud voice was hushed into soundless sobs for a short time — they had no words to say. All that passed through their mind couldn't seem to understand, to register this new reality that was now happening. It hadn't occurred to them how everything had morphed towards something they didn't wish to be a part of. A life they did not want to change forever. It was worse to wait, to watch for him to turn to them and be reminded that they could not be together any longer.

It felt like they were walking towards their shallow grave. They could not do it, couldn’t deal with it any longer. He did not want to be miserable, as much as they didn’t. Being together until that moment felt like a dream, and now it is a nightmare. Yet remembering, repeating those phrases, those words, felt like they burned in flames. They felt like they burned every inch of their flesh into ash. It was the feeling of being poured into a wild sea to be swallowed by an agitated wave , to drown in everything. Suguru whispered those words in the past tense, tears pouring from his eyes.

Those words they hated, over and over. The value of those whispers of ‘i love you’ in repeated order, followed by buts and excuses, by deviation, by cancellation, by subtraction. They etched in these fragile veins and poisoned them to death. It was a curse, to love. And yet it continued, as easily as breathing. Those words had made a fool of them, laughing at them. And They would never be the same again. There was nothing left for fools. Nothing.

“But you love god.” They whispered back, brows furrowing into sorrow. “More than you love me.”

“I’m sorry.” He kissed the top of their hair, smiling ever so apologetically. “I’m sorry. I love you.”

Suguru had left that flat the next day, a letter left on the counter along with the keys. The nooks and corners empty, from where he hid his variety of morning tea to the little books he would read as the sun would rise to greet them. They stood frozen, staring at what had remained. The flat was cold, so dreadfully cold. They just stared, with their eyes burning in pain and crimson shine from the tears that would not stop pouring. They did not take it well.

They'd flung aside the blankets that had filled with muted tones of their disheveled look, scrambling across their face like a hurricane. They didn't want to think about it. They didn’t want to be reminded of it. Yet all there was left was reminders. Nothing but ruins in the once great space that was their own. That life no longer materialized into being, not here. As lonely as the dead trees, stripped of the foliage that once decorated their twigs. Life cannot exist where there is no sun, life cannot exist without the warmth of water, nor can it exist without the oxygen in their lungs. There was none here. Nothing was here, other than barren life.

Moving into a modest shack of an apartment in the far out districts of Tokyo, nearer to the other prefectures than anything else. Uncle Yaga was the one that had suggested it to them, as it had been far enough from the capital. It was a new perspective, a new sign of life — one that could perhaps heal them. He told them that he had once sought refuge in the far flung district’s vibrant feel, having departed himself once more in his nomadic pleasures. They had been blessed by his suggestion.

The bright street lamps comforted them at night. The sight of morning air that came through had been a gentle kiss on their welcoming of that first lonely sunrise. There was a buzz of excitement that filled them as they watched different people stroll the streets every day, suitcases in hand and speaking different tongues. They all were hoping, gathering their strength to start a new life, just as they had. In a manner, they were maintained by this encounter every day. In a sense, it made them feel like they weren't the only one going towards a new chapter in life. They were not alone for the first time in a long time.

Though uncle Yaga sent money regularly, they too were able to find some work. It had helped them somewhat, the world still reeling from the financial disaster that had recently plagued the nation. They have been able to save enough money recently. And in those times, they had come to be interested in pottery. They seem to notice the solace of it, having watched some locals make clay pots for their meals and as gifts. Soon enough, they wanted to try it all out. They had been eager to find the materials.

But they did not know where to start, unable to find the ones that they liked enough to suit the ideas They had in their head to come to life. A small sigh passes their lips. They had the confidence to think that learning would be easy, but it had not been. But They had been glad to have this moment to start something new. A new hobby meant a new life. And a new life meant moving forward. Life finally goes on.

On that cold winter morning in January, they met an old man who had come from central Tokyo only a few months before. He had moved to the city a while ago, he said. To be closer to his son who had become his carer. Having suffered burns across his body after an accident had happened in his home, his only child had been wanting to take care of his father so that he would not be alone.

They had been surprised about him. He was an intelligent man, but he was stern and rarely smiled, often in heavy bouts of pain. But they do not blame him. His burns had not completely healed. Often, it was only morphine that could put him to rest.

They met the old man’s son soon enough. Their neighbor, Nanami Kento, had been kind to them when they first met. It had all begun when they had struggled with their purchases from the market and he had been willing to lend a hand. He had always smiled at them with his thin lips, blossoming craters upon his cheeks.

He was a beautiful man, with his light blond hair and his soft brown eyes. They were nearly the same height, but it did not perturb him. Still, there were corners they could not reach, even with their height. Kento had been the one to help them, reaching forward so devotedly.

It was obvious that he had been a bigger man in a frame than them, though. Kento’s father had bragged about it, certainly. They could see Kento’s cheeks redden ever so brightly. They could only find themselves laughing along with Kento’s father as he reacted even more expressively. For a while, Kento had kept them company as time went by. That had soothed them and kindly given them something to look forward to. From the friendship that blossomed, they had found something they had longed to have in a long time — a true laugh.

There had not been any interaction with the two of them, for a time after that. Kento admitted to them that for a while, he pondered if he should continue developing affinity with them. When they allowed him to continue to explore the depth of that warmth between them, Kento had been certain to be nothing but good to them.

He respected them too much, giving them much more than any one, even Suguru, had afforded them. When they talked, there was not a semblance of awkwardness. Not once did they feel any dull moments hit the tune they danced to. It had been easy to just be with him. The burdens did not exist in his every touch, not even in his gazes. The warmth of his embraces had enraptured their cold body, eager for the warmth of someone’s care.

That made them feel relieved, to not be alone any longer. There was comfort in someone’s kindness and truthfulness. From then on, they had always been aided by him. That’s why they had felt as though they too would like to return the favor, taking the responsibility of taking care of his father when they had the time to do so.

They had conversed with him when the older man had no company in the apartment’s commune. Kento had sent them a telegram saying that he would be home later tonight, but the trains had a mishap.They had switched his reserved seat for another day and it took a while to fix with the officers of the train.

As such, Kento asked them to take care of his father till he returned. They had no qualms with doing so, having a day off that day. Besides, Kento had told them that his father had been melancholic after his mother had passed. His father needed someone and they were willing to step forward to be that someone.

They had not known the language he was now speaking, the deep thick accent of his words befuddled from the hale of medication he was taking. It did not seem he understood what they were saying in reply either. Yet during the times that he did, it had made them warm inside. Today seemed like a good day, where they responded back to them.

Today, he seemed to know what they had been saying though, smiling when they told him good things that happened at the market this morning. But for the most part, they created a language through actions. At least when the older man had been capable. But most days, the two of them sat to enjoy the day. Just by sitting together to enjoy the warmth of the small fireplace in their apartment. It was enough to have someone.

Kento’s father had been someone who had been interested in pottery, as far as teaching it for years when he had been a younger man in the capital’s finest schools. Kento had told themthat it had been part of their family’s history, as his grandfather had been a historian who studied the history of their family’s hometown. His father had become intrigued by the pots and vases they would find, eventually deciding to focus on such studies and practice.

It piqued their interest, for the most part, watching Kento’s father tell them ceramics he had taken with him from all the places he had come to work when he was able. Most clearly on days when the morphine had not overtaken him. Some he had made by hand, practicing methods that had long been gone and reviving them one motion at a time. But now they were only stories, his body no longer able to do as he wished, in particular, took her interest. Bright golden streaks echoed through the plate like golden rain, wonderfully varnished with nothing but the finest finish. When they turned a moment later to ask, they had gotten the reply.

“That had been from the days of old.” Kento’s father whispered to them, gazing at them with a small smile. “They called it kintsugi, young one.”

Their eyes gazed at him questioningly. “What is that?”

The old man gazed at them with warm almond eyes and smiled at her, speaking. “Something that is broken being fixed with gold, child. To be whole again. It is a kindness, an echo of beauty. A new life.”

For a moment they blinked, stunned that he had gathered himself in his chair with a painful groan.

“A new life?”

The old man smiled at her once more, faintly this time. “All that is broken — is not truly broken. It is just waiting to find a way to be alive again. That is why they used to fix it with gold. Life for the broken can be golden too. There is always a new path to walk on again, young child.”

That moment made their heart flutter, almost as if they had been waiting their whole entire existence for those words to be said to them. Warm words of simple solace were sometimes more than the warmth of the fire crackling in the room. It was the most genuine warmth against the winter. Tears streamed down their cheeks. They could only whisper, "Thank you."

Ever since then, they had come to be fond of the artistry of kintsugi—pooling as much as they could to the devotion of new passions. It was a new life they had been living, excitement pumped through veins. In these two years, they had ended up getting lessons from Kento’s father on pottery when he was able to instruct. It had been a pleasant time, having to spend carelessly after work in the wonderful pool of stories, of myths, and of time gone by that had suddenly made them forget about the mournful heartbreak.

When he was in too much pain, they nursed him to rest and afterwards, continued to do as they pleased with learning the art of the pottery. The wind that cooled their body from the open window had been refreshing, the exhaustion of work pondering their body. It had been for a new exhibition, one that had come after the other. It had been something that had surprised them, that such skillful artistry would become the wholeness of their current life. But it fulfilled them, it had filled the gaps they had with gold—to live again as they had always had. Forward.

In a moment as they dipped their hands in the cold pools in the bowl, they did not remember how lost they had been when the already gone had seeped through. It had been pouring lately, but it had been expected, especially as their quarter was always affected by the autumn rains. Pursing their lips, the young soul could only sigh as they saw the roof still dripping from last night’s wistful rain.

It had always slipped their mind, to tell Kento about the leaking roof. But it could not be helped as they gazed at the open window. They would tell him when he gets home from work, he would fix it. Leaning forward, they watched what remained of the rain pour through.

For a moment, their mind explored the corner it always returns to. The smile on her lips as they chased them, playing those childish games. The cold rains were heavily drenching their Sunday dresses, readying for church. But those lark eyes did not care.

No, they were paved with mischief. They were a wildfire, burning through with his loud laughter. Those were happy moments, their memories whispered, Memories that yearned for him, that adored him. Urging them to open her heart once again, to love the ghost haunting them. That moving forward should mean loving what was already passed.

No, now at this moment — they shook their head. They will not go back to those memories. They will not. They felt happy. This was their life now, their new life. And they are doing well. They are happy, even. Happier than ever before. They felt content in the already small space crowding in the wonder of sketches across the battered walls.

The round table is full of drying plaster vases, letting the hot sun beckon it frozen in the summer heat. The smell of charcoal gathered across their blackened fingers, as they rubbed them against the planned design. At that moment, the new path had become dipped in gold. And for that, they were grateful. There was no need. No need to return .

But when the night came, they nearly dropped the envelope.

Kento had returned, placing a kiss upon the temple of their head.

Their left hand over their lips, the ring echoing a tender promise.

‘Had Yaga give me up to him?’ They panicked, their heart beating wildly. ‘No, he wouldn’t do that to me…..But still, how did he?…’

“Are you alright?” Kento lowered his gaze at his lover, questioning them. For a moment he was worried. They had been tearing up, still staring at the letter. Putting his soft hands against their shoulder, the shine of the ring finger beckoned against the early dawn. “‘Hey, what’s going on?”

“It’s nothing.” They whispered to him, wiping away their tears, and tore the envelope and threw it in the bin. “It was nothing.”

His gaze beckoned towards the bin and then to them. “Are you sure? It’s nothing bad, is it?”

“No, it was just an advert. Nothing important.” They gave him a small smile to reassure him. But his eyes could see that the light in his lover’s eyes was dim. “Selling me those ridiculously expensive silver pots again.”

“I see.” He did not want to overwhelm his lover by asking. He pursed his lips and turned to them, putting his hands on their face. Rubbing their cheeks, he tried to comfort them with his touch.

But they turned their face slightly away from him. “It’s just that. It’s not that important.”

The fondness across his lips deepened. “You don’t have to buy them, you know. I know you hate them. But I suppose the ad may be telling us something. I’ll take you, we’ll buy you something. Even if it's not the silver pots. You need to treat yourself, love. Tell me. I’ll buy it for you.”

“I just….” They could not find the words to say. Their heart beating fast, They clutched their hands onto it as though to beg for it to stop. “I’ll decide later….it could just be another waste of money, you know?”

He shook his head laughing. “Spoiling you, making you smile. It will never be a waste of money, you got it?”

They pierced their lips in a tender line and then smiled, nodding.

He sighed softly, satisfied. Kento put his hands on their shoulders and then their arms. Moving close to them, he allowed his body to caress them. They had rested their head onto his shoulders, quietly accepting his comfort. They had stayed that way for a while, Kento knowing he would have to leave in a couple of minutes.

He indulged himself to comfort them at this time when he would not see them for a couple of days at most. He needed to be with them. In all times he can be there, he will be. It was the least he could do, after being so far away from them all this time. He loved them with all his heart, after all. When they had parted, he grabbed his coat and put his hat on. He turned to them, smiling widely at them. Her fingers played at the texture of his trench coat.

“I’ll be back as soon as possible. I would not want to miss dinner with your uncle.” He tells them, caressing his lover’s long spread of hair tenderly. “I’ll hurriedly finish work and come straight home, hm? I’ll bring some flowers too.”

They let out a small laugh. “I’ll look forward to it.”

He kissed the edge of their temple and then their cheek before they separated once again. Finally, he gathered his lips around theirs and softly hugged them. They peered into one other's eyes, before they laughed. Kento whispered his goodbyes and heard them say farewell. When they had closed the door, reality shook her to its core. It had his name on the mail, written as sender. It had been Suguru's name. They hurried to the bin, opening it and taking the torn letter.

Tears streamed down in their eyes as they realized that the wound had reopened. The shadows of the past had come and rushed like a flood, like a sudden thunder from the skies. They had been found once more, they had been yearned for. Suguru had written to them. After all this time, he wanted them.

They stared at the torn letter and burst into a sob, guttural almost like an animal’s wild cries. In a soundless fall of their body on the floor, heavy tears surged like an infinite wave of ripping currents. Their arms shook as they clutched themselves, gathering over their shoulder blades.

All the emotions they had felt at the time, and yet still felt, hurried back to them like lightning striking the soil over and over. Everything had returned. All that they had buried within the back of their mind. All that they had fought to bury six feet under, they had all but risen from the dead. They couldn’t stop themselves from embracing the cuts of the envelope as though they were cradling the most precious thing in the world.

Suguru’s name echoed in the bits and pieces of shredded paper. After all this time, he still remembered them. After all this time, there was still that wanting, that forbidden desire. But it would never happen now. After putting Kento’s father into bed and aided him to sleep that night,their restless abandon in the pool of recalling tears called them awake.

And here in this lonesome space, with this torn letter — this torn letter that shouldn’t even exist. Suguru was now living his dream, his destiny, his duty. There were children laughing every day in the choir of the church. Satoru still visits, sometimes with Shoko. Suguru had taken in twin girls in the church, adopting them after their parents had left them at the steps of the large gates. He was living his dream, he had his life now. His life was now fulfilled. Full of the newfound hope and laughter.

Geto Suguru should be doing well. He was happy. He said as much in his appointment at the church. They were there, a witness as his dreams tore apart years of a home built in each other. Suguru smiled at them from all the way in the back. They choked a sob and stood, leaving. It was enough, seeing him then. Dazzling in the bright golden crucifix on his chest and the most beautiful black robes and that mantle of yellow–gold. That had been enough of a scene, that should have been the ending of those pictures in the theater. That should have been the end.

‘But his dark lark-like eyes. His eyes were grieving you.’

Reeling in a moment of rewind, the words in the card makes them feel like they were going to burst into tears once again. Suguru had become one with god, become one with the divine, with the duty of the sacred. That world is treating him well. They prayed every day, in the silence of their repeating days, that he would always be well. That he’ll always be healthy.

That he would always be happy. That god would always favor him. They knew that god would always be kind, god will always be merciful, god would grant their prayers. They knew that. After all, god has taught love. And in their heart, there was only love for the man that had made her feel what love truly looks like.

There was that day, that day in central Tokyo, when Kento had brought them for a day out with his father. They were going to visit his mother’s grave. In the markets, they walked and talked. Deciding what to give in offering to the temple and then to his mother. Yet it caught their eye immediately. The same long tresses of hair, as charcoal as the night.

The same sound of laughter echoing from the distance. Dark priestly robes beckoned his body, kind words poured through the sanctity of his lips. Behind him were two young girls, dressed in long dresses, trailing behind him so tenderly. Silver crosses were on their necks, a gift no doubt from the priestly man, the godly man, that had taken them in.

The two girls shared the same shine, same passion in their eyes as Suguru does. Jolly in the tenderness, they were so beautiful in the morning sun. They felt their heart break at the sight, as they lowered their parasol and let the sight be gone. For the past to just be the past. For life to move forward. It was better that way. For the two of them. It was better to forget than remember. Yet, that’s what they did.

They had wept ever so silently all night when they returned home, trying their hardest to not be seen by their lover. They did not want Kento to worry. They did not want to trouble him in his sleep. They did not want to cause more suffering. Not for them, not for the memory of the long lost love they knew Kento could never replace. There must not be anymore reminiscing, there must not be anymore yearning. There must not be any more curiosity.

‘I don’t miss you.’ They whispered to their restless heart as they wept. ‘I do not miss you.’

Their hands grasped the envelope with a trembling breath. They chewed at their thin lips even more as they trembled and felt the tears flood. They looked at the envelope with eyes shaking, too unwilling to say goodbye. A harsh cry came from them as the shaking hands clasped together, cutting through the coherence to incomprehensible fragments that would never be whole again.

They gathered them in their hands and stood, allowing the tears to pour. They shut their eyes once They reached the bin, as if they were mourning a death. Even after these many years, perhaps they will always mourn. This was a tragic death that will never be forgotten. A death that would haunt them for the rest of their life. They apologized as they stared at the bits, whispering those words of devoted love that had long been banished from her lips.

They cried Suguru’s name repeatedly, at each repetition, it was almost like a prayer more than anything else. Those words of love died as much as their beloved Suguru’s name did in each round of breath. They said tearful goodbyes, each and every time. They murmured the parting words of her love. They watched as their body moved on its own and flung them aside moments later.

They put their gloves back on their hands and their bonnet back on their small head as they paid for their drink in eerie silence. The staff had not been there, but they left the payment anyway. The tears dried sooner than later, and their heart had no more space to become even more numb at each pang of the ache. But it was all for the best.

Kento’s father will be walking soon, and they needed to arrange breakfast for him. They felt the frigid wind surge through their shrouded bodies as they strolled through the dimly lit streets, and They pondered if it was god above comforting them, just as Suguru used to say. They wondered if all would ever be okay. That they were pleased with what they had done.

Their lips let out a forlorn sigh as they slid their hands into the sleeves of their coat. They took a deep breath and started to walk home, the echoes of their footsteps merging with the silent cries of their heart. Memories of love, now tinged with the bittersweet hues of what once was.

“It was nothing.” They whispered to the calm air, convincing themselves. “It was just what it was in the end.”

They smiled and paused as they saw a falling star.

“I’m living well, Suguru.”

“I’m glad to know that.”

They turned their head up as they halted, under the light.

Their mouth opened as the dark eyed priest smiled at them.

He still looked so beautiful, especially now, under the moonlight.

They halted, facing each other, and the dim light revealed the lines etched by time on Suguru's face. It must have been a moment of peace for Suguru, his steps measured and deliberate, a silent echo of the morning rituals he once shared with them. He always loved walking, embracing the fresh air as the world awoke. The memory of those quiet mornings lingered, a haunting reminder of a love that once flourished like the flowers touched by the first light of dawn.

As Suguru drew closer, the streetlamp cast a glow upon the contours of his face, revealing the weariness that came with the weight of his choices. His eyes, reflective pools of regret and nostalgia, met theirs, and for a moment, time stood still. The priestly robes draped around him seemed to carry the burden of unspoken confessions and silent prayers.

He had seemed all grown up, his hair longer than it had been all those years ago. Yet, he was still whom they knew. The person they had loved the most in the world. Their very heart, right in front of them, as though they had never parted.

“Hello.”

“Hi.”

Suguru smiled at the sound of their voice, his steps slowing as if time itself had granted them a brief moment of suspended reality. The street lamp flickered, casting dancing shadows that played across his somber features. His eyes, once filled with the warmth of shared memories, now held a distant recognition.

"Long time no see," they whispered, the words escaping their lips in a hushed tone, laden with a mixture of nostalgia and restraint. The blink that followed seemed to bridge the gap between the past and the present, a futile attempt to clear away the emotional fog that hung between them.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you too.”

"Sugu—No, uh, Father. Father Geto," they stammered, the words catching in their throat as they struggled to reconcile the familiarity of the old name with the newfound title of reverence. The transition from the intimate to the formal underscored the undeniable transformation Suguru had undergone.

A fleeting sadness crossed Suguru's eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the divide that now existed between them. The weight of the priestly robes seemed to intensify, as if the fabric itself bore witness to the complexities of their shared history.

Whispers of the impossibilities that had consistently echoed in his mind for years when it came to them, to the life they could have had. The life they could have deserved. He was certain that their words shattered him, his mind full of chances and roads not taken.

"Indeed, it has been a long time," Suguru replied, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken truths. The use of the formal title added a layer of formality to their exchange, a thin veil attempting to conceal the depth of the emotions lingering beneath the surface.

A heavy silence settled between them, and the flickering street lamp seemed to cast a spotlight on the unresolved tension in the air. Their gaze lingered on Suguru's face, searching for traces of the person they once knew within the contours of the priest before them.

Father Geto, his expression a mask of duty and restraint, nodded in acknowledgment.

"Yes, it has," he replied, his voice a measured cadence that echoed through the quiet night.

They bit their lower lip, a nervous habit that betrayed the turbulence within. The words unsaid, the questions unasked, hung in the air like a delicate thread waiting to unravel. The night embraced the weight of their emotions, and the street lamp continued to flicker, casting its dim glow further upon the scene—a reunion tainted by the passage of time and the choices that led them down divergent paths.

Their eyes shimmered with unshed tears as Geto Suguru let the passage of time settle in the air. The chasm between them widened, and in that moment of silence, it seemed to stretch into eternity—a vast expanse of unspoken emotions and missed opportunities.

"Suguru," They whispered, unable to mask the vulnerability in their voice. The name hung between them, a bridge attempting to span the gap created by titles and time.

Suguru's gaze flickered with a mixture of pain and understanding. Yet in between, so much love. So much devotion – sealed away for what remained of all his life. Reserved for a lifetime where his yearning to duty, to god, did not win.

"Please," he began, the weight of his own emotions evident in the quiver of his voice, "Call me Father Geto. It's the only way we can navigate this... this impossibility."

The words hung heavy in the air, a poignant acknowledgment of the constraints that bound them. They merely nodded, a small, pained acceptance of the reality that lay before them.

"Father Geto," They uttered, the words tasting foreign on their tongue.

A sigh escaped Suguru's lips, a fragile exhale carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken apologies.

"I never wanted it to be like this," he confessed, his eyes betraying a sadness that transcended the boundaries of their shared history.

"I know," they replied, aching with the burden of understanding. The streetl amp's flickering light cast a dance of shadows on Suguru's face, emphasizing the lines etched by time and choices.

The heavy silence persisted, a tangible force that hung in the air like a shroud. Their gaze fought to be tender as they remained fixed on Suguru's face, as though trying to find solace in the familiar features that had once provided comfort and warmth.

Father Geto, a master of self-discipline, struggled to maintain the mask of duty and restraint.

"We are bound by different paths now," he said, each word resonating with the finality of their choices.

They took a hesitant step forward, as if attempting to breach the invisible barrier between them.

"Do you ever regret it?" they asked, their voice a mere whisper in the quiet night.

Suguru's eyes, haunted by the ghosts of what could have been, met theirs.

"I would be lying if I said I didn’t," he admitted, the confession heavy with the weight of his own longing.

Tears welled up in their eyes, and they fought to keep their composure.

"I thought time would make it easier," they confessed, a raw vulnerability laid bare beneath the dim glow of the streetlamp.

Suguru offered them a weary smile, a flicker of shared pain passing between them.

"Time has a way of revealing wounds we thought were healed," he said, the truth echoing through the hallowed space between them.

The night embraced them, a silent witness to the intricate dance of emotions beneath the flickering street lamp. Time seemed to stand still, allowing the echoes of a love both tender and tormented to reverberate through the quiet air, wrapping around them like a shroud of nostalgia.

"I miss you," they whispered, the words hanging in the cool night air, laden with the weight of untold stories and the lingering ache of unresolved emotions.

Suguru, with a melancholic smile that held the depth of a thousand shared sunsets, replied, "I know."

His words, a testament to the silent understanding that had weathered the storms of time, painted a canvas of their shared history.

A brief yet profound moment passed between them, a communion of souls familiar with the artistry of sorrow. They exchanged sad smiles, acknowledging the pain that dwelled beneath the surface—a tapestry woven with the threads of what was and what could never be again.

"But you'll never leave God, won't you?" they asked, the words hanging in the air like a sacred hymn, a melody of unspoken truths that resonated through the silence.

Suguru, his gaze drifting to the ground like a fallen prayer, nodded with a heaviness that only a man torn between earthly desires and divine duty could understand.

"Yeah," he confessed, his voice a fragile melody that cracked with the weight of the choices he bore.

A bitter laugh escaped them, a bitter acknowledgment of the cosmic joke that played with the strings of their fate. "Damn."

"I'm sorry," Suguru whispered, the words carrying the weight of unspoken regrets, a plea for forgiveness in a universe that seemed indifferent to the intricacies of human hearts.

Suguru listened in the gentle embrace of the night, the words hanging in the air like a delicate confession of the heart. The flickering street lamp cast a soft glow on their faces, revealing the vulnerability etched in the lines of their expressions.

“I’ve never felt so homeless,” they admitted, their voice a poignant melody that resonated with the ache of a displaced soul. A somber laugh escaped them, a fragile release of emotion that danced on the precipice of tears. "To be without the person that made me feel like life can be a home. It’s as if I’ve been taught how to build a home, and then it's just, in ruins.”

Suguru, his eyes reflecting the constellations of shared pain, nodded in solemn understanding. The weight of their words echoed through the silent night, the gravity of loss settling like a heavy fog.

“It's a peculiar kind of emptiness,” he mused, his voice a low murmur, as if joining the nocturnal conversation with the whispers of the wind. "To have known the warmth of a home, only to find it reduced to ruins. The echoes of what was linger in the cracks, haunting the spaces that once held promises."

The person's gaze, a reflection of a universe in turmoil, met Suguru's.

"You were my home," they confessed, the words carrying the weight of unspoken dreams and the fragments of a life that now lay in ruins.

Suguru, his heart heavy with the acknowledgment of what had been lost, replied, "And you were mine." His voice, a gentle breeze that carried the scent of nostalgia, painted the canvas of their shared memories. "You'll always be."

"I know." They replied back, pointing to the middle of their chest. "You'll always find your way into a house here too."

The night wrapped around them, a silent witness to the unraveling of a love that had once been the cornerstone of their existence. The street lamp flickered, casting a dance of shadows on the remnants of their shared dreams, now scattered like stardust in the cosmic expanse.

As they stood beneath the dim glow, Suguru reached out, a silent offering of solace in the face of their shared homelessness. The person, their eyes brimming with unshed tears, accepted the gesture, a fragile connection in the midst of ruins.

"It's okay not to have all the answers," Suguru whispered, his words a gentle reassurance, a beacon of understanding in the night. "Sometimes, the process of rebuilding begins with acknowledging the ruins."

"Did you do the same?"

He laughs somberly.

"I'll still have to learn to. Just like you." He whispers back to them, tilting his head at them. "It's often hard, when you love someone so much. There's too much to want, too much to remember. But also too much to forget."

They pursed their lips at him.

"Do you want to forget me?"

He shakes his head.

"No. Never."

They dug deeper into their pockets.

"You know, the worst thing is, after all this time, I don't think I've stopped loving you," they confessed, the admission tearing at the seams of their heart like a love letter written on the pages of time. "I still love you. Even if I have someone to love now, I still love you."

There was panic in his eyes for a moment. As though those three words being said paralyzed him. As though they compelled him. The mere three words echoing in his ears made him feel as though he would break covenant to god the moment he heard them. He would sin and he would sin knowing his heart would not be guided by reason. Love after all, does not have reason. Love is just love.

Suguru, looking at them with eyes that mirrored the reflection of constellations, pleaded, "No, no, don't."

"Let's just leave that out there just for a second on its own," they said, a brief huff following as they gathered the shattered remnants of their composure. "It needs to be said, one last time."

Suguru, resigned to the bitter reality that hung between them like a faded photograph, nodded with a quiet acceptance. He offered a smile, fragile as porcelain. "Alright."

"I love you," they declared, the words a sacred offering hung in the air, a requiem for a love that refused to be extinguished, a melody that echoed through the chambers of their shared history.

Suguru, offering a tender smile, whispered, "It'll pass."

"I know," they replied, their voice carrying the wisdom of a soul that had danced with the fleeting nature of love, accepting the transient beauty of their shared pain.

As if prompted by an unseen force, they both turned, their hearts guiding them toward separate destinies. They who is still tethered to the past, lingered in the shadows of what could have been, as if waiting for a final resolution that might never come. Suguru, facing the far reach of the church's dome like a silent sentinel, took a moment to compose himself, tears betraying the stoic facade he wore as a priest.

"I love you too," Suguru confessed, the words a whispered goodbye, a final benediction offered to a love that had been both a sanctuary and a storm.

And then, with a heavy silence enveloping them like a shroud, they finally parted ways. Each step echoed the closing of a chapter, a poignant farewell etched into the fabric of their souls—a bittersweet symphony played beneath the dim glow of a street lamp, where love and destiny converged and diverged in the grand tapestry of life.

There is still a home, built the soul of those you love.

They walked away, they couldn’t help smiling through the tears.

There’s always going to be that home, made just for each other.

They live on together, small crevices of the soul just for each other.

They'll be fine.

Suguru would be fine.

They'll always build a home.

Together.

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doctor-radius · 2 months

Text

The Brazen Banshee a Large Bronze sculpture Made in the visage of the old gods after their fall, it is now puppeted by Draumic flesh. its stomach opens unleashing thousands of Freakishly long arms that drag unfortunate souls into a burning abyss, their screams Sounding out from between and vibrating its scales in a nightmarish orchestra

#art #character design #concept art #dnd art #dungeons and dragons #fantasy #silly creature #sketch #digital art #dnd #Worldbuilding #Valleyboar Project #artists on tumblr #Dragon

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tothepointofinsanity · 1 year

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Tearful Sayaka.

Some ramblings:

The doll was much bigger than I had anticipated. Well, more for my money's worth I suppose. I also didn't notice she had tears in her eyes when I made the purchase. Tragic.

Funny free gift that is the Madoka magnet.

Some thoughts/analysis of Sayaka below:

I really like Sayaka a lot (because that definitely wasn't obvious before already judging by what I draw) - she is not only love-themed (mermaid), but also angel and ocean themed. Aside from the metaphor that she embodies depression, Sayaka is like water itself. Volatile and moody... etcetera etcetera. Sayaka became a mermaid to survive the crushing waves of grief she felt, but by the time she realised she wanted normalcy and acceptance again, she had already traded her feet for tails.

Mirrors play a huge role in Sayaka's character without it being outright noticeable. In the show, she sees herself as a corpse, and believes that she is a magical girl that rouses only pity and disgust. Oktavia, her witch, lines the mirrors of her hall with memories of her former life, deemed so unbearable that she hides them behind closed doors (commence the sequence where Kyoko and Madoka enter the orchestra, where the doors open to them because they are both a part of this bygone memory). The mirrors are also reminiscent of the one from Snow White - the queen constantly summoning imagery of the princess, who was the object of her jealousy. While it can be interpreted that the "princess" is Hitomi, I think it is more appropriate that, in this case, the princess is the "old self" Sayaka once was; the peaceful life she had, once regarded without second thought, had became unobtainable, for never again would she be as fair (human) and desired.

The witch herself is an undulating armour of a knight, her face not freely gazed upon by anyone so simply. Sayaka also often shields her face out of habit in Rebellion, where it seems that she's crying into her hands during her own transformation, and deliberately hiding her face when singing the Cake Song. As opposed to just deducing this as Sayaka thinking she is ugly, she believes she is monstrous. Her self-loathing is intensified by the fact that her powers and motif revolve around water aside from music alone. Sayaka succumbing to her despair meant that she stopped trying to swim in an ocean, where she's surrounded by an infinite and spanning abyss reflecting her failed ideals. I think...much like Homura, Sayaka, once transformed, is sealed in a hell where the warden are themselves.

(If you made it this far, have a bonus picture. Here's Imposter Miku and a comically large Sayaka figurine lingering in the background.)

#I could make this longer #Oktavia screaming in Sayaka's voice...it's very unsettling #Sayaka is very much the center of my brainrot rn #Sayaka is so....#There are not enough words appropriate or equal to my intense feelings about her #Society if I met another Sayaka enjoyer irl #pmmm sayaka #pmmm #puella magi madoka magica #sayaka miki #ttpoiwrites #madoka magica #magical girl #this was really disorganised i m sorry #Observation Log Series #Sayaka Archives

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cityandking · 6 months

Note

glance, informal, bling, change for dai, minah and narayani!

thanks dear! // oc asks: character design edition

glance: At first glance, what stands out most about your OC's appearance? What's their distinguishing feature?

DAI — probably the scars 😬 boy's got a bunch of golden kintsugi-style scars sneaking out from under his armor/clothes from that one time he blew himself up and spent a couple years in the abyss #justclericthings MINAH & NARAYANI — answered!

informal: What's your OC's lazy-day look? How do they like to dress when they're winding down?

DAI — shirt + pants [this or this depending on the weather] (+ maybe a jacket if it's cold). very loose, very comfy/casual. pretty much the only time he dresses like this is when he's winding down for the evening or in private at home (if he's really really lazy and winding down he'll leave the shirt unlaced, but that's only for the privacy of his own room and/or zaref) MINAH & NARAYANI — also answered!

bling: What jewelry does your OC wear? Does it have any meaning?

DAI — wears his holy symbol on a necklace (it's got the same kintsugi thing going on as he does). he's also got a ring of telepathy made from his father's (unused) wedding rings and also I think? a necklace from scratch?? he doesn't wear a lot of jewelry outside the utility stuff (and party gifts) MINAH — minah wears a fair bit of jewelry; mostly it's stuff she's stolen. she has a nose piercing and her ears are pierced and she wears rings sometimes when she's not on the job (and the fire opal ring she got from alesso and the orchestra). of her useful gear, she has a necklace of disguise (currently with rhydian) and also a necklace of [redacted] which has recently seen some unexpected wear. it's all either utility or for funsies; none of it has any specific sentimental value. NARAYANI — she'd wear a necklace and probably some bracelets, and she also has a few ear piercings (and maaaaybe a nose piercing?). no rings though—she favors a set of slim leather gloves

change: Has your OC ever drastically changed their appearance? Significant haircuts, big tattoos, complete wardrobe swap, etc? Why? How do they feel about the change?

DAI — the biggest change he made to his own appearance was when he shaved his head (badly, roughly, with a drugstore razor and his own dagger) after he died the first time. there was just a Lot going on and he needed a physical outlet. since coming back from the dead (take two) he's got a bunch of new scars and his hair coloring has changed slightly, which is...... it's a little hard to see himself in a mirror, these days. he's getting through it (is he though? is he really?) MINAH — yeah, she started dying her hair and wearing whatever she could get her hands on for cheap. leaving home was rough, particularly with the death of her parents. at the time it was horrid, but she's grown into the changes, and now they feel like her. recently, the shift to the warden uniform has been the biggest change. (I cannot for the life of me decide if she has tattoos or not. schrodinger's tats; until a party member sees her naked it's TBD) NARAYANI — getting her vallaslin was a big change. since then, there really hasn't been anything except for a couple of scars from bad fights. she gets nicer armor and gear as the inquisitor, but her wardrobe is more or less the same besides that.

#I know inquisition has acessory slots for necklace + belt + 2 rings but narayani would have like. ear piercing + necklace + gloves #anyway #thanks my dear!!#minah #narayani #daichi #memery

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adalz · 2 years

Text

Lacrymosa - part 5

pairing: Zeke x Reader ー Priest!Zeke x Angel!Reader (mention of Angel!Levi x Angel!Reader)

chapter warnings: /!\ very angsty/violent chapter / a lot of violence and blood, use of gun, mention of wounds, witchhunt, minor/ major character death (i'm so sorry) / sacrilege tw, you know the drill.

world count: 7.3k

a/n: Hi! I started writing this chapter forever ago. I had to work back and forth on it. most of it was written in one fell swoop. Kind of long getting in, but once you're n it. You’re in it. So much chaos.

<< prev. part | series m.list | next part >> (soon)

In the distance, far, so far away. A memory.

Like an echo lost in a mountain gorge, twirling above the valley.

Throbbing with life, it was so volatile it stuck to your skin, carried by an exhilarating feeling of momentum.

A memory wafted by the frosty winter wind, and your great wings glided on the updrafts of the sky.

There were landscapes, thousands of them, gone in a blink of an eye as the wind flew through your body like a vital force, eyelids heavy, face slapped by the sky. And suddenly, in the distance, tearing the pale horizon, the shape of a mountain. There, underneath your body, miles and miles of plains went by with the seconds.

The secret whispers of the wind were loud in your ears, the tugging of the tense muscles of your wings hard and sharp. They were outstretched, strong - striking the air. And so, like an unexpected change of balance, your body stretched, reaching higher, towards the snowy peaks - beyond the rocks and the stone paths once used by Mankind.

It was such a strange memory, indistinct, lost in time. Something was odd - leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. The feeling of a captive bird, finally freeing itself from its golden cage, discovering the vast reality of a too voracious sky.

On your skin, thousands of sea spray stained your face, carried by the wind. There, there, beyond those stone walls, the scent of salt, the smell of the coast beaten by the winds and the tide - the ocean.

In this memory's rush, beyond the mist of the mountains, it finally appeared. There was the ocean, the ricochets of the infinite stretches of water. The softest sapphire reflections. The senseless call of the waves, heady.

Your muscles finally relaxed in your back, and your body gave in to gravity.

I could have fallen in the middle of the ocean and my body would have slowly sunk to the bottomless abyss.

The adrenaline of the fall, controlled and delightful, made your heartbeat hard in your chest. As your body was about to slide into the water, your wings flared open - almost sliding on the opaline surface.

Fingers dived into the icy water, barely skimming the lace of foam on its surface, but the hard speed scraped them across the waves. Consumed by this unrealistic, almost painful coldness, you quickly withdrew your hand. And then with a dull, powerful wingbeat, shattering the air and the waters all around you, you plunged back towards the sky.

Sovereign of heavens, lost in their immensity, brushing the captive snowflakes in the clouds charged with electricity - it was an insatiable memory, tugging at your heart.

But something was wrong. Like an out of tune instrument in a delicate orchestra.

Because this could never have happened.

You should have known this land. You should have remembered it.

That thrilling memory, buried deep inside you. As beautiful as it was - it all sounded wrong.

Invented.

Fabricated.

Because never before had you dived into the blue Surface's sky.

Because as far as you could remember, there had always been nothing but horrible memories, attached to nothing but fear.

Because all you could really remember was the oceans infused with the color of blood. Mountains spat fire, and the curse of the Goddess had fallen upon Her creation.

Because you had no real memory of that life you once lived, and only that senseless and uncontrollable fear had haunted you, for eternity, on the ground of Paradis. Held so close to the Goddess, She alone had let those fears grow within you. Only She had known the skies of the Surface of yesteryear.

Because the Goddess had taken everything from all of you, at the cost of wings too big to ever fly.

Those wings in your back were the very mark of a peace you had never known. Because your first memories were painful with nothing but death and destruction.

Because you, the children of Ymir, were then blessed with wings so large and so powerful that no mortal weapon could ever touch you.

Yet, all it took to make you fall was an arrow.

There, deep within your flesh, stealing the air from your lungs. Offering you back to these lands.

Far from the vast horizon and the ocean spray, you had learned to fly in a cage.

Prisoner of a tortured sleep, of marble halls too white, you had never known the blue sky and the seas with their silver reflections. Never had you known anything but destruction, death, and the deafening sound of eternity. You were a mere child, endowed with sacred powers. And nothing but the shades of death on Her lands had survived in your mind.

All of a sudden, in this too pristine memory, the sky was upside down. The taste of a blood too old flooded in your mouth. Its once scarlet color, dried and blackened by the intense light of the sun, blinded the whole world around you.

Nothing had prepared you to fall. No one ever taught you how to fly.

An eternity spent wandering around the ground of Paradis, and you waited for it to be over. You thought, there was a purpose. That it mattered. You thought there was sense.

How come no one ever told you?

That death and destruction were to be endless. And that their perpetrator was of sacred blood.

That Levi was an angel of death.

Senseless world. Nothing but fear, crawling, instilling inside your veins. Alone in this infinite sky, endlessly falling

And slowly, everything started to distort. This lie slowly evaporated. You blinked. The world was dark.

Thousands of voices fell silent in the night.

Your eyes fluttered open.

A breath

and reality slowly returned.

The beating of your own heart came to settle on the regular rhythm of rain hitting against the window. You could hear water drip against the half-opened window

Sweat was sliding down your neck, your body still sore from sleep.

You woke up, and it was dark in the room.

You woke up with the feeling that your body was heavy, arms dead. Your wings tighter than ever against you. Suffocating.

The touch of a hand came. There, resting against your chest. Five cool fingers, as if measuring the crazy rhythm of your heart. Your pillow collapsed a little as you turned your face in his direction.

His head was resting against his arm, you could barely make out his features. Barely, the line of his neck. The curve of his chest. The delicate lines of his stomach and of his hips. Only, in the darkness of the night, the reflection of his eyes was on you.

This blue so familiar, full of sleep, was observing you.

He made a movement, and the sheets slightly slid off your naked bodies. His fingers gently came up to your forehead in a delicate caress.

He murmured something, but the meaning of his words was lost in the low tone of his voice. Against your burning forehead, cool lips came to place a gentle kiss.

Oddly, knowing that he was awake at the same time as you, in the middle of the night, was appeasing. For he kept finding you, no matter where you were, and every single time, you were reborn under his fingers.

Then, you let your body slide in the sheets, thirsty for his cool touch. Dying to drown in his embrace. His arms tightly closed around you.

Your nose against his skin, already overwhelmed by his touch, you thought about everything you had taken away from him. Everything he had given up. How you had turned his world upside down. This selfishness, which made you want his arms and his mind only to you. Him, already devoted to the Goddess. Him and his words and his outdated beliefs. Him and his faded world. Him and his gentle words.

Where She had abandoned you, he had given you everything. And you would burn forever in the flames of the Surface for refusing to love him.

It was so dark, and your world was in his arms. Safe. He had found you.

You woke up and the room was blood red. The sun was rising. Your wings spread behind you, feathers caressing your skin and your arm around Zeke, pulling him tight. You couldn't remember ever being so warm. Yet, there, on the tip of your fingers, you could have sworn you still felt the coldness of the sea.

You woke up and the room was bathed in yellow. His breath was steady and even. In his hair, the sun's rays were dancing. Beyond the window, beyond the rain clouds, the morning had blossomed.

In a loud whisper, your body suddenly remembered the kisses of the night before, the frantic dance of love on your hips. There was a forbidden taste in your mouth. A bitter taste of success.

Gently, you extirpated your body out of his arms, carefully slipping towards the edge of the bed. Immobile in the silence, you sat there a long moment.

Shaking away the sleep, you bent your back while stretching and your wings opened painlessly.

Painlessly, you thought. Strong and steady.

You grabbed the holed shirt that had been discarded on the floor, and walked out of the room, trying not to think about it. Of this silent promise of having to leave, eventually.

As you went down the stairs, you let your wings slightly flutter, your body so light by the force of the air lifted by the working muscles. As if walking on water, your feet met the cold kitchen floor in an instant.

The muscles of your thighs suddenly woke up, warmed up by a soft pain, alive with a song that words did not come back to you, drowsy in a heady desire.

In silence, you started making tea in the old kitchen. Soon, the sound of water ricocheted in the kettle, and you tried not to let your thoughts wander as you absent-mindedly looked outside the small paned window. From there, you could see the wrought-iron gate, a few trees in the woods and the path going downhill. The birds were already chirping in the forest.

From the cupboard, you grabbed one of the cylindrical metal boxes, on which was written in large calligraphic letters “Reeves Trading Company”. A sweet smell wafted up to you as you opened it. It was aroma of dried leaves, with the scent of fruit and vanilla. You brought the box to your nose, taking a breath in its stunted and dry flowers, once so brightly colored, and the green of the leaves were now dark and sad. In these dried flowers of winter colors, there were buds. With a spoon, you dipped into the tea leaves, taking only a small amount, and putting it in the teapot.

Warm hands slid over your stomach.

“Aren’t you cold?” said his sleepy voice.

Against your skin, ten fingers were now burning, his skin so warm, and you sighed with ease. From the wood-burning stove, the kettle whistled.

In turn, you let your hands explore his forearms. He started nibbling your shoulder. Tenderly - the base of your neck, and then the nape. You felt his teeth slightly sink into your skin.

"Didn't mean to wake you up," you chuckled as you turned in his arm to face him.

The moment your eyes met, he unleashed the most devastating smile.

He was beautiful, his flaxen hair tousled from the night, eyes shining with that confidence he would always wear so well. His chest was bare, and his arms all around you.

The thought that he would regret what happened the night before had crossed your mind at some point, but he didn't seem to feel remotely guilty.

"I made some tea," you said again, staring into the blue of his eyes. Behind his glasses, they were heavy-lidded, still puffy from the lack of sleep. They were sharp, focused. Wrinkled from a smile, taking the shape of pure delight on his face. Every look, every caress of the pad of his fingers, on the edge to make you lose your mind all over again.

"Thank you, angel," and his eyes went down to your lips.

His arms tightened against you, and in a sighing breath, he whispered, "You're so cold…"

“I’m fine…” you said, and it was nothing but a whisper. His eyes went back to your face.

“Are you sure?”

Reaching out to his face, your hands cupped his cheeks. He let himself go, his face slightly huddling against your palms.

“Yes,” you whispered. “I’m fine.”

His lashes were long behind his glasses, eyes closed, savoring this moment. His eyes remained closed as he took a deep breath in.

Yet, he said nothing.

"Let's drink this tea before it gets cold," you finally said, and his eyes opened. He nodded.

And the tea was poured. It abundantly flowed in the old, chipped cups, letting out its sweet and fruity aroma, while the steam drew delicate arabesques into the air.

Ephemeral vapor, so fragile - and you remembered thinking;

"I wish I had lived this life."

Forever, in this old isolated house. Dancing in his arms while the rain was drenching the outside world. Having his hands skim over you as your body trembled with pain and pleasure, for eternity. Having him.

You remembered saying to yourself;

"Long may it last."

As long as life would allow you to.

“I hope that time will let me keep him a little longer.”

How you would have liked to stay with him, to dress his wounds. Those that you could not see, which nevertheless, there, under his skin, still burned him with a great ardor. Those that, so deeply, had killed him, slowly. How you would have loved to watch him grow old and grow old with him. And perhaps your skin, under the influence of the curse of the Surface, would have wrinkled with the rhythm of years passing by, entangling the minutes and the hours with this love so tender that consumed you. As if the opportunity to die with him offered a new perspective to your life. A meaning, eventually.

Silently, in this very moment, you made a decision. Because that was your choice to make. It was the path you chose. Beyond the expectation and the duties imposed on you, a long time ago. Far from the waiting and the eternity. It was your choice. Entirely yours.

You would have loved, loved it. So much.

But the tea was poured, for the last time.

There was so much of it that it spilled out of the cups, dripping onto the floor.

Zeke burned his tongue as he took the first sip.

The hot liquid overflowed a little more. The cup slipped from his hands.

And then there, those last moments of innocence, they could have been frozen in eternity. And the cup, as if suspended mid-air, was about to hit the cold ground.

What was heard instead was a shrill scream in the distance.

It lasted a split second. Zeke's face snapped; his head already turned towards the scream. Slipping through your fingers. The light in his eyes, suddenly dull.

He tore himself away from you.

And the cup shattered on the floor.

You barely had the time to recognize Colt's voice that, Zeke was already running through the door. And before your legs could even begin to run after him, another sound ripped the air.

Something you’d never heard before. Nothing like thunder. Louder. Closer - a deafening sound. Dry. Deadly.

It resounded, with indescribable violence. Shattering all balance in this world. Your whole body jolted, hands tights against your ears, in an unconscious protective movement

Then came silence. A few seconds of it. Enough to breathe again.

And in its horrible hissing, you finally heard a burst of voices - Colt's again. He was calling Zeke. He sounded terrorized. He was probably crying - out of breath.

A voice echoed.

A hoarse voice, falsely delicate.

You heard Zeke say, 'Get inside, son’ and the sound of footsteps in the gravel outside. But the voice said to stay still. The footsteps stopped immediately.

It said, "Don't move."

It said, "Or I'll shoot you."

And you were there, standing still in the kitchen, unable to move, feet wet from the burning water on the floor. You let your body take a step towards the window.

Behind the small panes, someone was standing in the garden. They were tall, far too tall. Menacing, with their arm stretched out. Behind them, other figures in the distance. They were not moving either, immobile. Among them, torches were burning.

Horror struck you at the sight of all these people - walking on this haven of peace. Those who were never supposed to see you, those who had once spilled the blood of the Goddess in Her own halls.

But through the opaque panes, you could only see her. The dark blond hair running alongside her face. It was the darkness of her clothes that drew your attention to the shiny object in her hand.

Witnessing the horror unfolding before your eyes, you realized the origin of the detonation.

In your mouth, the terrible taste of the arrow that had pierced your throat. The memories of the pain, the blood. So much blood. Only this time you imagined the wound to be deadlier, a pain that matched the horrible smell of gunpowder and fire that overwhelmed your senses.

Like pieces of a puzzle falling into place, the worst things went through your mind. Colt and the blood beating feverishly in his body. The life in his fragile body. Was he hurt? Had she used the weapon on him, in his back, as he ran, calling for Zeke with all his lungs? Was he alive?

Violently boiling in your veins, all you could see, all you could imagine was blood. You straightened up abruptly. The woman's face suddenly turned towards the window. Towards you.

Before you could make a move, Zeke's voice echoed again from outside.

"Put the gun down. If you want to talk, talk to me."

"I've been trying to talk to you for weeks, Father," the woman said. "Only you're not listening."

"Put the gun down, Yelena."

Her face turned back to Zeke's voice.

"Goddess, no! Have no fear, Father Zeke! I could never use it against you!"

"I don't care if you want to use it or not. Drop the damn gun. Now."

"Father, it's all for you that-..."

Then, you heard Colt’s voice - he was alive, thank the Goddess, he was alive -

"Father-"

"Get your ass inside, Colt. Right now."

Her voice, again;

“The boy doesn't move.”

“Let him get inside the house.”

“No.”

“He’s just a boy.”

“I’m afraid you’re wrong."

“How am I wrong? He’s fucking seventeen!”

"He's not what you think he is."

“Who is he then? Just talk to me, for Ymir’s sake!”

No words were spoken, for a moment. Only silence, a question left unresolved.

Yet there was no hint of doubt in her voice as she eventually spoke.

Your heart fell into your chest.

"He is a servant of Evil."

He was not. He was not.

This violence - the lies, the weapons. It couldn't be true, it wasn’t true. It wasn’t a nightmare.

And all you heard was Zeke. It was him. You were sure of it. It was him - but his voice had lost all gentleness. All the sweet inflections were gone. All you heard in the timber of his voice was pure anger.

“What the fuck are you on about?”

“I know Father. I know. But it’s all right now, we’re here for you. I came for you. I’ll deliver you.”

“Let’s do that then. Fucking deliver me.” It was no plea. It was him. “Just let him get inside the house first.”

"What for? So he can warn the Tempter?"

The Tempter

So they knew there was someone in this house. They came to kill you. They were going to.

“If he gets inside the house, it shall burn with the two of them inside.”

Her face turned again, slowly, towards the opaque window. It was dark inside the house. She couldn't see you.

“What are you-...”

"You don't have to lie anymore, Father. I know what's going on. I know everything. All my doubts are now gone. I knew. I knew almost immediately. That something was off. Oh, Father, I am your most fervent servant, you know that. How could I not see that you disappeared as soon as your sacred duties in town were accomplished? How could I not have seen that you were bothered, lost in your thoughts during your sermons, each week shorter and shorter. You know how dearly I love you, Father Zeke. I love you. I would never tolerate anything happening to you. So I watched you, to understand what was going on. To help you. I followed you."

"You followed me."

"Most nights. When everything was dark, except for the lights inside the house. That’s when I’d see it the most clearly. It was just its shadows at first, and I thought it was just my mind playing tricks on me. I thought it was just you, or the kids, always under your feet. But there was something else, I was sure of it. And I saw it, as clearly as I’m seeing you right now. A thing. Shapeless and deformed. There was something that followed you inside that house. Passing you by, never making you jump. It was as if I was the only one seeing it. I tried to tell you. I tried to warn you. But you never listened. You were always busy. Rushing. Lost in your thoughts. You were not yourself, I could see it, that there was something in your mind. Something coaxing you.”

Through gritted teeth, she added: "And you were never listening to me. So I decided to see for myself. I came here yesterday morning."

“Yesterday morning,” Zeke repeated.

Yesterday morning. As you had left the house at the first light of day. Zeke was still asleep in the chair in his office. Colt, in the armchair by the extinguished fire.

"There's no one in this house, Yelena."

"There was no one there, indeed. But something was off. There was a presence. As if there used to be someone. I could tell by the size of the embers left in the fireplace. By the way blankets had been thrown on all the chairs, by the number of dishes in the sink. By the clothes left on the floor. By their deformed and torn shape. So I started searching. I knew that something had been there. I just had to find it.

I prayed to the Goddess all those nights. For Her to let me know the truth. To let me understand. And it came to me - standing to reason: the only place where a demon could hide, away from our eyes. Where it could grow and regenerate, feeding on our faith and our devotion. Some places we used to worship. Somewhere remote. Somewhere only you know.

I thought I remembered the way to the Old Chapel. But the clearing is much deeper in the forest than I remembered. The paths once used by our fathers are all gone now, devoured by roots and creepers. The trees are so high, blocking out the daylight and it was so dark, so cold. What monster wouldn't make a den out of this.

And finally, after what felt like hours in the mist, right before my eyes - it appeared. I couldn’t believe it when I first saw it. That it was real. That I was right!

Wandering around the clearing like a lost bird. That was it - the thing that defiled your house. With its deformed shape. Trying in vain to look human. And I remembered thinking ‘What an outrage to the Goddess’. A terrible thing that we, sinners, should never have to see - withered wings, a being perhaps once divine creature, that is no longer one now that it has been repudiated from the floors of Paradis.

"That's n-"

"Father, things happen for a reason. Its presence here is none other than a punishment. This thing is not a wounded bird. It is a punishment. A test for you. And for me. And I did not feel fear. Well, the truth is, on the contrary, I was relieved. That I was right all along. That I had found the solution. And I knew that I had to make things right. Back to how they were. I had to fix it. When I saw it, at the Chapel Father, I knew I had to kill it. For you.

And so today, we are bringing the fire to you. We’ve come to save you, Father. To purge this house of the evil that has nestled in it.

It’s all happening faster that I intended to; Grice was spying on us as we were talking about how to… take care of this. He ran away before I could stop him. And he ran exactly where I expected him to. Back to the darkness. Like a rogue dog to its master. But don't worry - we will burn it all down. We will purge this place from the darkness. And I am going to fix this.

Starting with this.”

Her silhouette abruptly changes position. Arm still outstretched. Turning around toward the window. Fire shot out of her hand.

It was even louder this time, firing in your eyes. The air shattered, a deafening sound. The glass of the window exploded into a thousand pieces before your face.

You barely had time to bend down.

You didn't scream. You couldn't make a noise.

When your eyes flew open, someone was rushing inside the house. You knew it was Colt, but you wouldn’t have recognized him. His usual gentle face was now covered with terror.

Outside, the world was screaming.

You watched as he ran towards you, as if slowed down by time. As if gravity had changed. His eyes wide with dread, cheeks red and wet from the tears rolling across his face. His feet crushed the broken glass in the water. He was running towards you, for what seemed hours.

A hand stretched out in front of him, to come and get you, and outside, there was death. There was the fire of the torches and the murderous weapons.

Outside, Zeke. Alone.

He grabbed your arm. And time went back on.

He screamed something, and abruptly pulled you from the floor. Before you could stand up, your knees scraped against the sharp pieces of glasses. You pushed on your legs, and started to run.

Colt spoke, yelled something, but words died within the chaos. The only thing anchoring you in the reality of the moment was the cold skin of his hand in yours. There was another one. Another detonation, tearing the uproar of the world, but you already had crossed the room and its large fireplace, jostling the two mismatched armchairs. Colt kicked the small backdoor, onto the backyard.

And Zeke was alone. Outside in this hell.

Out of reach.

In a vain hope, you looked back.

But all you saw was the darkness of her eyes, fixed on you. That silhouette of her, too slender, her legs too big. Behind you, already. There, a few meters away, in that room, pervaded by her deadly aura, by the death in her eyes. Staining those safe floors, thriving on fear, and her eyes, without any light. Fixed, transfixed aiming at one thing. You.

There was no turning back. There was no choice to be made. There never was.

Colt was tightly holding your hand.

Colt shouted ‘run’

And so you ran.

There had been no destination when you had first run through those woods. You had run for your life, or yet you had thought so. Feet thumping hard against the soil of the Surface, a bandage too tight around your throat, breath taken, voice lost. You had fallen and ran again, away, away from the wrong enemy. This time, if they were to catch you, they were going to kill you.

So you ran. As fast as you could.

Colt was holding your hand, and you were holding his. Behind you, people were shouting. Behind you, there was fire.

And the ground was beating hard with each footstep, with each breath, the world on the verge of rumbling right into the chaos, and somewhere, Zeke was all alone.

Zeke was all alone facing those people. People that he knew, people that he saw every day, people that trusted his words, just like you did.

Was it your curse, to watch everything go up in fire? Turning into ashes?

Death and destruction, all because of you.

What if I had fallen in the middle of the ocean and my body had sunk slowly to the bottomless abyss.

“Don’t stop!”

Colt’s arm was stretched, pulling you as he kept on running.

Colt. Sweetest child. Colt and his timid smiles, and his stories and his blushing cheeks. Colt and his secrets, and his little brother he was so proud of. Colt and his training, and the light in his eyes whenever he was looking at Zeke. Colt and the warmth of his hands, and the sharp truth of his words. And his life had been made into a living hell, poor mortal eyes seeing things he should have never seen.

He had gone through those woods as well. Running. Calling for Zeke after walking in his house, the floor covered in your blood. His once innocent childhood, stolen away.

He had run for Zeke, scared that something had happened, probably thinking of the fragility of his own life. This time, he was running for you. And he kept on pulling you, even when you stumbled. He never let go of your hand.

Finally, the edge of the forest appeared from the dense foliage of the woods. Soon, you would reach the clearing, where the two of you would be exposed - easy to aim at and to take down. With nowhere to hide. Soon.

And then what?

Followed almost immediately by yours, Colt’s feet were the first ones to beat the tall grass of the clearing. Here was the great blinding light of the sky, the cold sun of autumn warming up the skins. And at its heart, proudly standing for millennia, was the Temple. Its foundations still holding the walls steady, its colonnades filled with stone. The songs and the prayers that once resounded there, long forgotten by the Goddess.

You imagined that this was Colt’s plan, to run there, hide inside the Temple, and wait. But the truth was, he was just a boy hoping for a miracle. Because you knew that no one would ever come. You knew it had been forgotten for too long. You understood that you were running straight into a deathtrap.

And with each footstep, you were being more and more defenseless. With each footstep, you were turning into an easier prey. With each footstep, you were condemning yourselves.

There was nothing but the beating in your ears. Nothing but the footsteps, the same rhythm, and the same race, again and again and again.

In your back, unstrapped wings were fluttering in the wind. If you would have been sure that you once really knew how to fly, you would have opened them wide. You would have let the autumn wind rush into them and set off. But no one ever taught you how to fly.

If you ever had a semblance of power, if there had been anything you could have done, you would have buried the world right there, under your feet. You would have soared up towards the sky, Colt within your arms, flying away from them, and from their decrepit beliefs. You would have done it. You would have opened the earth, and plunged the forest behind you into the Underworld.

A detonation ripped the morning light. Birds flew away from the trees.

The smell of sulfur, the smell of war all around you.

You knew she was there, behind you, feet in rhyme with yours. She must have been aiming at you, trying to take you down with a shot...

But you were almost there, so close to discern the cracks in the walls. So close that your feet were already crushing the shattered stained glass in the grass. Colt slowed down. His hand slowly loosened.

You glanced back towards him.

His cheeks were wet, his mouth so pale.

"Co-..."

His hand slipped from yours.

And he fell to the ground.

You flung yourself on him. Quickly, grabbing him under his shoulders, trying to lift him up. But his body was heavy, too heavy, drained of energy.

"Run..." he said. And his skin was too pale, too pale.

"No, no, no Colt, I'm not-"

"You’re almost there...”

His voice was too weak. His body, too heavy.

That was when you saw her. On the edge of the woods. She had stopped to take a shot, her stance still.

“I won’t-...”

“I’ll catch up with you later. Please, just go.”

And in the distance the sound of footsteps. She was on the move again, running towards you. And it was as if the earth was shaking with each of her steps.

"Now, you go," he said.

He lifted one of his hands, to remove yours from his body and your hands were so warm against him. Sticky.

Palms towards your face. The morbid colors of life.

Stained. Stained, stained, stained, stained.

Stained with his blood. Stained, this infernal place. Always stained with blood.

You may have screamed. In the quiet of what had been done, you may have screamed. But no words formed on your lips, no sound, except a jerky growl. Except for the anguish, growing, tearing everything in you.

Colt on the ground. His eyes were so fatigued.

He may have been talking. He may have been crying.

But already, all around his body, his life, flowing onto the clearing ground.

You said something, again, you said something. You heard someone promise him, you heard yourself swear. That everything would be okay. That you would fix it. As if there was anything to fix in this world. What was there to fix when everything was already broken. When nothing made sense anymore. When you would have to erase everything to start over.

And it wasn't just a nightmare. That body, these tears. It was Colt, bleeding to death. It was life slipping away from him, unfairly.

He who had so much to say, so much to do. He who had so much life and love.

Alone, in the clearing, while footsteps were getting closer.

She was almost there. In your back, your wings jostled in the wind.

"I’m begging you. Run."

“I’m not leaving you here. Colt, I’m not leaving you here.”

But your voice came out punctuated by violent shaking. Your face twiste; your vision blurred.

Not by himself. Not like this.

"Don't look back," he whispered, "do it-..."

Nearby, voices rose from behind the trees. Her steps became slower, spacing out.

"... -For me."

Standing before you, the woman. And Colt’s head fell heavily onto your lap.

Her pitch black eyes were on you. Emotionless face. With both of her hands, arms lowered, she was holding the gun.

She was looking at the two of you. From him, to you.

Colt, then you.

The lifeless body, and then you.

On her face, a shadow passed.

She immediately aimed at you, regaining her composure. Her body was tense. Yet, she didn’t shoot.

“So this is you,” she said, slowly..

Colt was heavy against you, and everything you touched was sticky and warm, while her hands were immaculate against the bright gun. And you were ready. Ready for the fire. You were ready for her to shoot, whenever she wanted to.

“I understand better now,” she said.

Unconsciously, your fingers skimmed back and forth against the coldest skin, the roundness of a cheek, ever so carefully. Not to break him. Not to disturb the peace. The tips of your fingers were frozen.

“The Evil One really knows how to create temptation,” she said under her breath. She smiled at her own words. She smiled at you, she smiled at the body in your arms.

Something was gradually building inside of you. You felt it, something dark. It grew within you at the exact moment she had started to smile.

Over the treetops, a thick black smoke was rising into the yellow morning, like a dark column rushing to the sky. You could almost see flames licking the horizon. It could only be one thing. And with the smoke going up and up in the sky, the memories of the house. The books and creaking floors. The tea and the music. All of it, gone forever. Fragments of life and lives themselves - reaching for the sky.

So this was your curse. To watch everything go up in fire, turning the world into ashes. At this very moment, you came at peace with it. If they wanted to set everything on fire, you shall let it burn, them within the licks of fire.

Whenever she would move, you were going to kill her.

“I will kill you,” you whispered.

Yet the words reverberated in the clearing, your voice, loud and clear as never before. As if this place had always been yours and the trees were yelling the words you said, all the way back to the ocean. It took no effort to say it. It was recited like a prayer in the night, like a promise. It was delivered with a power, kept silent for too long.

And under the weight of the words, you felt your wings flutter wide behind your back. You felt every single muscle in your body flare up with a deadly fire. With power, ignited at last.

With the tips of your fingers, you carefully closed Colt's eyes. His soft, gentle eyes. Their warm brown color, gone. And when your fingers left his cold skin, they were burning feverishly. They were burning so hot, that the blood on your hands started to emanate oddly.

You looked up at her, and finally, you saw it. What you should have seen from the start. What they should all have felt when they first looked upon you. What you ought to inspire them.

Sheer terror.

This, right here. This was right. This was how it was supposed to be. Always. For Mankind was supposed to crawl and beg forgiveness for its wretched existence. They ought to be horrified and miserable. You were going to make her regret ever being born, only allowing her to beg all the skies and souls for you to end her fast.

Without a glance at the lifeless body on your lap, you laid it back on the ground. Without a shudder, you stood up. And as you did, your wings began to flutter in your back. Fast and hard - the movement smooth, a new strength waking up inside your body.

In your back, you could feel the muscles pulling painfully, straining against you from the force of the beaten air. Like a drop of rain naturally sliding with gravity towards the ground, your body elevated slowly, up towards the sky, feet hovering above the ground.

And what happened next was the most delightful thing - her face distorted with fright, the grin that was there a moment ago, long faded. It was exhilarating; the fear, but most of all, the realization.

She stepped back in panic, her hair flying out of her face under the effect of the powerful air movements, and then back again, brandishing her weapon hopelessly. Her legs buckled - she fell backwards, dropping it somewhere on the ground. And all around you, once pristine feathers were fluttering into the wind.

You heard a distant scream, from the edge of the forest. It snatched your attention away from her. All you could think about was the dark fate unfolding before you, the ill thoughts flooding all senses. And yet, at the sound of his voice, that thing that had been building within you, snapped a little. Zeke was running fast, he was calling your name. His body was covered in blood and bruises, his face distorted by anguish, gentleness and trust lost forever.

But behind him, suddenly emerging from the woods as well, dozens of people, torches and fire in their hands started to march on the clearing. And yet you knew that he was not running for his life. He was running for yours. Always for yours.

But there was nothing to be done. There was no other possible outcome. All of them were doomed. Nothing could ever fix chaos. As it was bound to happen, the best you could offer was to flow along with it. There was no hope.

You watched as Zeke ran through the clearing, and you hated every second of it. You hated to see him run, towards a future made of destruction and death. You hated that he was still hopeful, despite the blood on his face, and the smoke in his lungs. You hated that he was still hoping to save your life. That he was hoping there still was life to save. You watched him run until his eyes fell upon the body lying under your feet. You watched him stumble and fall to the ground. Your heart clenched in your chest when you saw the look on his face - the shadows, the distress. His eyes going back and forth from the body laying at your feet, to you. His glasses were long gone, and tears were rolling down his cheeks. You watched as he stood up, and started running again.

There was no outcome. There was never a choice to make. There was nothing to fix. And you were going to-...

Something shone from underneath you. A glimpse, the reflection of the sun.

A deafening detonation.

All you felt was the deathly pain. Everything pulled out of place, vibration in your bones, your face getting torn apart. The echo of a bullet ringing inside of you. Only the taste of sulfur and blood in your mouth.

You didn’t feel the moment your balance broke. You didn’t feel your body abruptly flinching in recoil, nor when your back hit the hard floor.

Only the raw feeling of exposed life, a Child of Ymir brought to their knees by Mankind’s weapons. The loss. Defeated, at long last.

Everything was red. Sensations gone, moving was agony. Silence was ringing hard, the world swaying. The smell of fire, the taste of metal. Body not responding. Muscles atrophied.

Eyes opened. The left one remained in the dark. And your face was devouring itself from the pain.

And it hurt, hurt so bad - it was worse than anything before. It was worse than the fall, worse than the arrow.

Each breath was death ignited on your face. And from there, all you could see was the sky turning black, the dark column of smoke elevating, already so high, hiding away the sun. You couldn’t hear a thing, only the ringing in your ears and chaos in your mind.

The world went dark.

Silent, at peace - finally.

The sound of the wind through the branches. A few notes played on a piano. You thought

This is it.

A sound. A sound that was not the sound of gunfire. That was not a scream of despair. A sound that had nothing horrifying. A familiar voice. It was your name.

Someone was calling your name.

Only no one in these lands could have imitated its distinctive sound. Not in this way. There were only a few people who called you like that. Only one voice calling you with this intonation.

A familiar language that you had once dreamed of hearing on these lands. A voice that had resounded thousands of times on opaline surfaces and in too pristine halls. Now it echoed beyond the treetops, throughout the entire sky. It was calling you. That voice, so warm, so far away. Silver gleams already shining everywhere.

join the >> taglist !

tagging🍂: @blondeboyfriend @babieweeb @chavvanies @zekefreak @fifics @jayscorner @sunshinedragonofthwest @jeonghaos @Sarashitposts @Princessebyakugan

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beyuwol · 25 days

Text

DREAMWAVE AUDITION !

yuwol doesn't know why he's doing this, honestly.

he had his chance—next gen was his first try, and it should probably be his last considering his parents' reaction to the entire matter. he joined, he rebelled against them for once in his life and all it did was brought him failure and embarrassment. he doesn't think he should try again, especially now that he's walking on thin ice every single day. but here he is, sitting in the middle of his room, facing the back camera of his phone and letting out a reluctant breath.

there are people who believe in him though. like chaerin, who encourages him in a way yuwol isn't familiar with; almost like a mother. and there's kou—who believes in him unconditionally, yuwol doesn't know what to do with kou's faith in him. yuwol doesn't want to disappoint them. moreover, he wants to reach out for the light too. maybe a part of him wants to find out how far this foreign road will take him, whether he'll fall back into the abyss his parents set up for him or if he can still break out.

so, back to square one.

DREAM COMPANIES

"my dream company... right now, that would be sr media. my time in next gen had made me realize that the aspect of performing and building a stage presence to carry the music we are delivering is very important." he thinks back to ran's words, how greatly it shaped his view on idols as a whole. "i'm very interested in sr media's approach to concepts, which is why i would love to be a under sr media in particular. if i had to pick a second dream company… then that would be studio delta, as i appreciate their freedom of creativity."

PREVIOUS MUSICAL EXPERIENCE

he reads over the question, and the image of his parents flashes behind his eyes. "my upbringing had always been related to music. i grew up in a household of classical musicians, specifically. i've played the violin since i was eight, performed in recitals and with orchestras for most of my life. next gen was the first time i parted with that instrument when it came to music." it was a refreshing experience—coming to an understanding that the violin isn't his only worth to live. "other than that, i study music too. my major is orchestral music, but i have a minor in music composition as well."

SKILLS

"i've been brushing up on my dance, lately. i know during my first round in this field i wasn't very good at it—but now, i think i've gotten a lot better." he has been practicing back at home, too. "i had vocal lessons before my time during next gen, but ever since then i've improved." he sounds more confident in himself—he knows he isn't the same person he was before, at least. "since i'm studying music, i've also done a lot of music composition... oh, and i've worked on my stage presence." he remembers when ran, once again, praised his acting—he wonders whether that counts too.

OTHER TALENTS

"ah... i don't mean to keep mentioning this, but i've been playing the violin for a very long time. i've dabbled in a few other stringed instruments, like the cello because my mom is a cellist," he explains. it feels strange, including his parents in a process they wouldn't approve of. "what else, what else... ah, i suppose i can write a lot of... poems. i've been writing a lot lately."

FAVOURITE ARTISTS

"a few years ago, someone introduced a band to me called lucy. i really like their music, the themes that they bring up, their instrumentals... but what i am fond of most is the way they write their lyrics. it's beautiful, i hope to be an artist like that too. someone who can bring these thoughts to life through music, or through my performances as an idol on stage."

the recording ends, and yuwol lets out another sigh.

#( solos. )#be:dreamwaveaudition #( wc: 647 )

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heavenboy09 · 1 month

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY 🎂 🥳 🎉 🎈 🎁 🎊 TO YOU

The Most Famous Canadian Director, Filmmaker 🎥, Oceanographer, & Academy & Golden Globe Award Winner 🏆 Of The Best Highly Regarded & Critically Acclaimed 🎥 In Cimena History Of The 20th & 21st Century

Born On August 16th, 1954 In Ontario, Canada 🇨🇦

He is a Canadian filmmaker. He is a major figure in the post-New Hollywood era. He often uses novel technologies with a classical filmmaking style. He first gained recognition for writing and directing The Terminator (1984) and found further success with Aliens (1986), The Abyss (1989), Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991), True Lies (1994), as well as Avatar (2009) and its sequels. He directed, wrote, co-produced, and co-edited Titanic (1997), winning three Academy Awards for Best Picture, Best Director, and Best Film Editing. He is a recipient of various other industry accolades, and three of his films have been selected for preservation in the National Film Registry by the Library of Congress.

Cameron co-founded the production companies Lightstorm Entertainment, Digital Domain, and Earthship Productions. In addition to filmmaking, he is a National Geographic explorer-in-residence and has produced many documentaries on deep-ocean exploration, including Ghosts of the Abyss (2003) and Aliens of the Deep (2005). Cameron has also contributed to underwater filming and remote vehicle technologies and helped create the digital 3D Fusion Camera System. In 2012, Cameron became the first person to do a solo descent to the bottom of the Mariana Trench, the deepest part of the Earth's ocean, in the Deepsea Challenger submersible.

Cameron's films have grossed over $8 billion worldwide, making him the second-highest-grossing film director of all time. Three of Cameron's films are amongst the top four highest-grossing films of all time; Avatar (2009), Avatar: The Way of Water (2022) and Titanic (1997) are the highest, third-highest and fourth-highest-grossing films of all time, respectively. Cameron directed the first film to gross over $1 billion, the first two films to gross over $2 billion, and is the only director to have had three films gross over $2 billion. In 2010, Time named Cameron one of the 100 most influential people in the world. Cameron is also an environmentalist and runs several sustainability businesses.

PLEASE WISH THIS LEGENDARY CANADIAN 🇨🇦 FILM 🎥 MAKER OF THE 20TH & 21ST CENTURY OF MOVIES 🎥 IN CINEMA 🎥

A VERY HAPPY BIRTHDAY 🎂 🥳 🎉 🎈 🎁 🎊

YOU SEEN HIS NAME IN ALMOST EVERY SINGLE FILM 🎥 YOU HAVE WATCHED & ENJOYED

YOU LOVE HIS DIRECTING & FILM 🎥 MAKING STYLE IN MOVIES

& HE HAS MADE SOME OF THE GREATEST FILMS 🎥 & FILM 🎥 FRANCHISE OF THE 21ST CENTURY THAT WILL BE REMEMBERED FOR MANY GENERATIONS TO COME & BEYOND

PLEASE GIVE IT FOR THE

1 & ALWAYS

MR. JAMES FRANCIS CAMERON 👨‍🦳 James Cameron

HAPPY 70TH BIRTHDAY 🎂 🥳 🎉 🎈 🎁 🎊 TO YOU MR. CAMERON & HERE'S TO MANY MORE YEARS TO COME

#JamesCameron #TheTerminator #Aliens #TheAybss #T2JudgememtDay #TrueLies #Titanic #Avatar

#James Cameron #The Terminator #Aliens #The Aybss #T2 Judgment Day #True Lies #Titanic #Avatar #Spotify

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cenedel · 7 months

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Candor

In the great Hall; I spent most days in the springtime dancing. I enjoyed the music of the day, and the lively aromas of the orchard outside.

There were dozens of windows to see through, along the northern face of the Hall; and just beyond that, were thousands of flowers, accompanied by hundreds to thousands of bees.

The sound of their collective arrangement in the garden had each day imbued with a faint vibratory orchestra, which could be heard after breakfast as I entered the great Hall for my alone time.

I watched myself in the reflection of the many windows, as I danced around the enormous room. My body became acutely prepared for each moment, each shift and turn I made to the music in my head. Before long, I found myself singing along with the imaginary melodies.

It was my refuge from responsibility. I escaped my reality in these morning rituals with my body. I became one with myself, and created a period to return to myself daily. This gave me a greater sense of royalty than the fact of my blood.

Suddenly, I had my own power, my own freedom. I could decide, and choose freely at my own will, in this vast and decorated room. And most glorious of its aspects; I had privacy. In the two short hours of my private freedom, I became so enchanted by my mind, and so comfortable with myself; that I failed to recognize the presence of my childhood companion.

Mid leap into the abyssal space of the room, I saw him in the corner of my eye. This startled me so, I slipped at landing, and sprained my ankle.

"Princess, are you alright?" I hear him shout across the room, as he starts to approach me to see my condition.

"Yes," I pretend, and frown at him as I sit perfectly still.

"Let me see, missus tough tiara", he smirks, and gently leans forward to have a look at my ankle. I smile, and wrap my arms around his shoulders.

"Ah-ha, I missed you as well," he smiled instantly, and wrapped an arm around me. "Let's have you upright, and well".

"My, you are too compassionate. Let a Lady be strong, Leon," I try to stand, and let go of him for a moment to attempt a step, but the pain has me nearly to the floor again.

"Ah, no. I admire your bravery, but I insist that you let me help you, please," he suggests more urgently now. I give up, knowing that it is for the best that I rest the ankle now. He carries me across the room, and I hold him tightly to support myself. "It's alright, just relax. I won't drop you. You are practically weightless, princess."

I hide my shy expression in his chest, and relax a little. "I do wish you'd call me by name, Leon. And yes, I miss you. Will you stay for long?" I ask, and look up at him. He looks at me for a moment, and then up at the door at the end of the hall.

"Princess, you know my burdens are very demanding. Please understand, I do wish I could be more available to accompany you."

I nod, and gently press my cheek against his neck for the last moment before there is no more privacy for us. He carefully rests me on the chair next to the door, and kneels next to me for a moment with a regretful expression on his face.

"There isn't much longer," I whisper, reaching to touch his hair, "someone will come".

He suddenly launches forwards, grabbing me by the waist and pushing his face down against my lap. The movement surprises me, and my heart begins pounding in my chest.

When I am finally able to move again, I place my hands on both sides of his head, and grip onto his hair gently. My heart rhythm returns to normal and I feel comfortable again very quickly.

"Leon, stop now ", I whisper with tremendous remorse.

"I'm sorry, Princess," He says, kissing me on the thigh before standing up to leave, "It won’t happen again".

My heart breaks a little, as I watch him leave the room to fetch the nurse. I didn't want him to leave.

In a matter of ten minutes or so, I hear footsteps approaching, and shake my head in an attempt to shake the feeling of loss from my heart. I wipe my eyes quickly, and look up at the gentle nurse’s face. Her expression is pure sympathy, as expected.

“Your grace,” Her sweet and delicate voice echoed softly in the great Hall. She curtseyed gracefully and waited in silence for me to address her. I adored her beautiful and young appearance.

“Where did Lord Cassiel run off to, Sophia?” I ask plainly, and bite my lower lip to smother the urge to cry.

“I’m not sure, your grace,” She bows slightly with a frown, “He didn’t say”.

“That’s alright, dear. It’s not your fault. I’m glad you’re here. I’ve injured my ankle.”

Sophia the nurse nods her head, “Yes, your grace. I will call for the others-”

“No, dear. It’s alright. Just help me back to my room,” I say, and wrap an arm around her shoulder. I stand on the unharmed leg, and limp forward through the door. It is a long while before we reach my room, and I can’t help but to wonder what happened to Leon.

“Leon sends his apologies, Hannah. He has returned to Drachten to perform his duties, and shall not return for two weeks,” Mother stares at me intently, “He also said that you had fallen and hurt your ankle, for which he is at fault.” She stands with her arms in front with her hands folded together. I can hear her suspicion in her voice, and it disgusts me.

“Mother, please,” I start to say as I stand on both feet, using the power of my irritation as strength, and push past her into my room.

“How will we achieve the remainder of our tasks if we are injured, Hannah?” She frowns, and grabs my shoulder. “Please remember your responsibilities, as my daughter. There is much to be done, and little time to do it.”

“And it will be done, mother. I will sit here to finish my studies and practise my arts now,” I promise, and break free of her grasp. I limp over to my desk, and sit down to open my book.

“Hannah,” The Queen stands behind me and places her hand on my shoulder, “I know-”.

“Know what, mother? I am doing all that you ask of me. Please, let me finish my work now. I am hurt.” I say, placing my hand over my heart, and looking up at her with a painful expression.

“I know that you want to see him again soon, darling. And you will. He wishes to see you as well. Please just be patient, and your friend will be here again, as if he never left.” The Queen turns to leave, and I rest my head on my book to close my eyes. A tear falls from my eyelash onto the page, as I look out the window.

“Lord Leon Peregrine Cassiel, your presence is requested in the courtyard with The Duke Raziel immediately,” asserted the Archmage Percival. He was often brash and unkindly, with a demanding approach.

Leon nodded without a word and quickly met with the Duke in the courtyard. “Your grace, you sent for me,” He announced his presence quietly.

“Yes, do you know why?” The Duke continued to read the runic lettering on the paper in front of him.

Leon appeared to be confused. He shook his head, “No, your grace.”

Raziel fixed his gaze on Leon for a moment, then back at the paper. He sighed.

“You leave such a mess behind you. What is the utility in causing the princess distress? You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” Raziel spoke firmly, as if from father to son.

Leon’s eyes widened in shock. He was unsure how the Duke could know what happened during his visit with me.

“Complete your duties here quickly and go back to fix your mistake. Leave her in a pleasant mood. And please, do yourself a favor and offer her a gift. She will be frustrated. Give her some of your time. You don’t deserve it for yourself,” he stated. “When she is pleased with you, return here to do what you were meant to be doing this evening.”

Leon stared gravely at the floor; a cloud of darkness loomed over his mind, as he became aware of his total lack of privacy. He bowed his head slightly, and left again to fulfill his requirements at the Council before returning to meet with the princess at Joure Castle.

As Leon arrived at Joure, in his carriage, he ordered his servant Michael to have the gifts delivered to my room; and his servant Gabriel to announce his sudden appearance, in request for a short visit to the princess.

“Gabriel!” nurse Sophia squealed quietly from the window. “Your Highness!” She turns to look at me from the window with excitement.

I get up and carefully walk over to see what is going on. A smile strikes me, as I see Lord Cassiel’s servants approach the castle, and his carriage parked out near the fountain. I place my hand on Sophia’s shoulder and look at her happily.

“Sophia, go and fetch my servant Emma, quickly!” I say, with a finger to my lips. She rushes off quietly, and Emma enters the room within moments.

“Your grace?” Emma curtseyed acutely.

“Fetch my Saturday dress and help me to the courtyard to see Lord Cassiel, please”. I watched as her tiny frame vanishes into the next room, and reappeared carrying my blue evening gown and garden shoes. “Sophia, a wheelchair, please,” I gesture with my hand for her to bring one over to me. The girls help me to change, and we all make our way downstairs.

“Thank you, girls,” I nod, and they look at each other smiling as they retreat back indoors.

Before long, I hear someone approaching on the gravel, and then the tile nearby.

“Your highness,” Gabriel gently announced as he bowed low in front of me, “The Lord Leon Peregrine Cassiel humbly requests-”

“So bring him to me, Gabriel,” I urge him, “I’d like to see him immediately”.

Gabriel bows low toward me and backs away to retrieve Leon. And soon, I can feel Leon nearby. I turn my head and listen.

“Princess, forgive me,” Leon starts to say, and I interrupt him quickly.

“I forgive you,” I hush him with my tone, and smile as I see him smiling. “That’s better. This morning I was afraid something was wrong, and you left. Tell me, why have you returned?”

“Princess,” Leon opens his right hand towards me and kneels down in front of me, “I felt ashamed of my behavior earlier, and wished to make it up to you. I’ve been granted leave until you are pleased with me.”

I am totally thrilled at hearing this, and so much so, one may see me glowing in the distance. Leon looks up into my eyes, and his expression turns to awe.

“Princess, you are so radiant,” He says, and his jaw drops slightly.

I raise my hands up to look at them, and see my aura shining slightly. “Ah, so I am.”

Leon closes his mouth, and brings his hands out from behind his back, presenting a bouquet of daffodils; my favorite flower. He holds them out to me, and I slowly reach for them, taking the time to admire his features. Laying them in my lap, I gesture for him to come closer. Leon stands, and steps forward to be right next to me, and kneels again at my side.

“Will you stay longer this time, Leon?” I ask affectionately. “The servants will provide a room for you.” I think it is adorable that he kneels to me.

“I will do as the Princess so desires,” He charmingly replies, placing his hand over his solar plexus, "within reason, of course".

“Then, walk with me in the garden for a while. Tell me about your life in the Cassilleton forest.” I say, and place my hands over my own solar plexus as I lean back in the wheelchair and look up at him.

“Ah, so you are curious about my origins, your highness,” He smiles, and turns to push me forwards in the wheelchair. I look out at the sky, and enjoy seeing the lovely pastel orange lining under the clouds, as the sun descends towards the horizon.

“Yes, Leon, you never talk about yourself. Please do. There is much about you I’d like to know.” I open my hands to the sky, and feel the light energy entering my system. I can feel him looking at my hands, and have a vision of him smiling up at the sky.

“Well, you know my father’s family governed a rural area spanning across seven towns just southwest of Norwich, and he often traveled to Friesland for trade arrangements and communication with Germany.” He began to explain. I nod quietly, and raise the daffodils to smell them while I listen.

“My mother’s family governed all of northwest, north and north-east of Norwich, which is why there was a great deal of political squabble over their marriage. My mother’s family obviously thought it was barbarous, and still does.” He stops at the edge of the little pond, and turns the wheelchair to circle back to the courtyard. “Princess, it is getting a little dark now. Would you like me to bring you into the castle?” He kneels to ask me, reaching out to hold my hand.

I place my hand on top of his, and squeeze it gently. “Yes, alright,” I say softly, enjoying the feeling of his hand touching mine. He stands up and begins to push my chair out towards the castle entrance, where we can still enjoy some sunshine on the way.

As we approach the large doors, the servants open them for us, and we pass through silently.

Leon kneels next to me in the entrance, and asks “Wherest thou wishes to go next, Princess?” He smiles and blows the hair out of his face. I giggle a little, and fix his hair for him. I always liked his wavy, dark hair.

“To dinner, Leon. I’m starving.” I smile gratefully. He stands and pushes me towards the dining hall, and we say not a word as we pass by the servants at either side of the lengthy walkway.

“Leon,” we hear my mother call from the dining hall. “Leon, hurry now darling, you’re both already late.”

So, he walks a little more quickly. “Your Majesty, I apologize for the delay”. He bows low to the Queen, and pushes my wheelchair to my place at the table.

“Leon, sit next to me, boy”. My father bellows loudly as he enters the dining hall, his voice reverberating through the room. I hear the windows shake briefly at the sound of his voice.

“Oh, Richard, don’t frighten him like that,” Mother rolls her eyes, and smiles.

“Madame, if he is frightened of a little noise, he is undeserving of my daughter’s affections,” Father announces abruptly. I blush immediately, and cover my face. “Here, Leon. Are you a man or are you a mouse?” my father puts his hand on the tall backing of the ruby red Victorian style dining chair.

Leon grins proudly to be invited to sit next to the King, and understands his jest. “Your majesty, I greatly appreciate your welcome this evening.”

Father has always had a soft spot for Leon, as we had often played together as small children. Father taught Leon to use a bow, and later a rifle. Leon often stayed with us, as his family visited for governing matters involving England and Germany, which duly entertained the Dutch over the years. So we happily hosted their visits to the continent.

“Richard dear, Willem returns in three days from Dresden,” Mother nods towards father, passing him a note. Father unfolds the note and peers through his glasses to read it.

“Ah-ha! A celebration is in order, my love,” He smiles at the Queen, and then chuckles and turns to shake Leon by the grasp of his shoulder, laughing. He then folds the note, and slides it onto the silver tray between himself and mother. Mother smiles like a pampered cat, using her wrist as a perch for her chin.

“So, let us thank the Most High,” Father opens his hands toward the ceiling and closes his eyes.

Later after dinner, Leon accompanies Father for a chat in his private library; where they’d be discussing politics, and boasting about their prideful endeavors. I retreat back to my room with Emma, nodding to the manservant standing outside my door, and see him bow slightly and turn to leave.

Emma opens the door for me, and folds her hands in front of herself. I step forward and look, seeing the decorative boxes that had been offered to me by Leon, accompanied by a dozen more bouquets of Daffodils placed around my room. I turn and look at Emma, smiling, before I look at the note he wrote for me.

“Dearest Princess Hannah of Friesland,

It is my hope that you are able to accept these gifts in respect of my personal loving regard for you, in addition to this short poem;

Oh gentle and golden-haired Lady,

Whose beauty is regarded in Heaven,

Singing are thy Angels above thee,

And there above thy shall return,

To the Highest throne wherest thou belongs

Yours eternal,

Leon”

I smile endearingly at the note, and read it eight more times, before finally folding it and placing it back into its envelope. I can feel Emma staring at me happily, so I turn around to look at her, and she looks at the floor.

“Emma, that is all for the evening, thank you,” I say, and watch her close the door. I turn and begin to undress, before hearing a footstep outside my door, and feeling a subtle vibratory force outside the door. I wrap my emerald satin dressing gown around myself before standing close to the door, and listen. Inhaling slowly, but quietly as I can, I catch the faintest hint of Leon’s masculine scent. I have a vision of him touching the door, and listening for a moment, before smiling.

“Leon, I’m here,” I whisper under my breath, and listen carefully for his response.

There is a knock at the door.

“Princess,” Leon’s voice appears behind me, causing me to gasp and turn around quickly. “Sh, it’s alright,” He says as he covers my mouth. “Forgive me, there was no other way.” He removes his hand from my mouth and lifts me up by the waist, carrying me over to the bed and sitting me on the edge of it, before kneeling and carefully removing my shoe for me.

I couldn’t do anything but smile and watch him. He leans and kisses the top of my foot, before letting it down and raising my other foot, removing my shoe and kissing the top of it. I cover my mouth, and lean back slightly.

Leon stands and walks over to the boxes and picks one up from the little round mahogany table. He brings it over and kneels, raising it up slightly for me. I pull the ribbon to untie the bow, and lift the lid from the box, dropping it on the floor. Therein lie two beautifully beaded Indian slippers, with satin lining. He takes one out of the box, and gently slips it onto my right foot.

I reach out to touch his hair, and he holds my hand to kiss it. I place my hand over the area where he kissed me this early morning, and turn away to smile. I can tell he is smiling as well. He starts to slip the left slipper on my foot, and rests his head on my lap for a moment. I gently caress the back of his head, and play with his hair with my right hand. Pulling the back of the slipper up over my heel, he raises his head to look up at me.

“Do you like them, Princess?” He asks, resting his elbows on either side of my legs on the bed, and holding my hands together in his. He kisses my hands slowly, and breathes deeply, waiting for me to respond.

“Yes, I love them,” I say, and watch as he stands up to go collect another gift to show me, and return. This time, he very slowly pulls the satin tie from around my waist, and I lean back, putting my hands on the bed, either side of my hips. His expression becomes somewhat intense, and he stops and raises a brow. “Go on,” I whisper.

Leon’s aura shifts, and I can see a yellow-pink shine around him. I can feel a warmth emanating from his hand, as he unties my emerald robe, and gently touches over the left side of my waist. I can see his veins become more prominent, and I raise my knee a little, to press against his leg.

He steps back from me and bites his lip while he quietly opens the gift box, taking out a fine gold necklace, with a teardrop garnet pendant. He opens the latch and comes closer again to place it around my neck, so I sit up perfectly straight, and press myself against him, listening to his heart. The rhythm quickens a little, and gradually slows again, as I raise my arms up around his sides. He holds my head to his chest with his right hand, and touches my shoulder with his left.

Leon’s body emanates more warmth, and I can feel it hovering around me. I look up at him, and see his eyes gleaming a golden-copper color. His aura is now a much brighter orange-red, and so vibrant. He kneels in front of me again, and his energy cools as he inhales and asks, “Do you like it, Princess?”.

“Yes, Leon. I like it very much.” I say affectionately, holding his left forearm, and touching around his waist. He caresses upward along my right calf muscle, and looks pleased to hear it. He stands to go and bring back the last 2 gifts. Opening the little square white velveteen box, he shows me the matching silver Amethyst earrings and necklace, and I smile before he puts it on the table beside my bed.

He then presents the last box, which is a larger rectangular and flat box. I lift the lid from the box, and inside is a notebook, with a beautifully illustrated blue peacock on the cover, standing next to a woman in a white tunic. She pours water into the stream, and the peacock looks to the West. I lift the book out of the box, and see that the pages are lined with gold, and inside the cover he’s written something.

“Dearest Princess Hannah,

Write to me in this book, and I will always be with you.

Yours eternal,

Leon”

I look up from the book at Leon’s expression, and he is frowning. “Leon, why are you so sad?” I whisper.

“Princess, I wish I could say,” He tries to smile for a moment, before frowning again. I look over at the daffodils and then back at him, and take a deep breath. “Come and lay with me for a while, and talk about the forest.”

“Yes, Princess,” He stands, and climbs onto the bed beside me. I close my emerald dressing gown, and lay next to him, placing my hand over his heart chakra. He holds my hand, and plays with my red coral ring while he talks.

“In the southern area of Cassilleton, there is a lake where my family would gather for the fishing season. We’d wake up just before dawn to start.”

I wake up to the sound of birds singing at my window sill, and turn to see Leon laying next to me, still resting, with his arms around me and his face buried in my hair. I scoot down so my head is about halfway along his torso, and press my lips against his solar plexus region. I wrap my arms around his waist, and just rest my forehead on him for a while, having my eyes closed.

After I’d rested again, I woke up to him moving and turning over. He grabs my hand and pulls it around himself, and holds it in his hands. I kiss on the middle of his spine, and relax again, closing my eyes.

“Have you had enough rest, Princess?” He whispers, bringing my hand up to his lips and kissing it.

“Yes,” I say, and yawn. He turns over again to face me, and pulls me up to his level. I place my hand on the back of his head, and feel his gentle breath on my face. “Leon…” I whisper.

“Hmn,” He hums briefly, and opens his eyes to look at me for a moment. He then inhales, and says “Yes, Princess?”.

I chuckle, and bite my lip. “Thank you”.

He looks a bit confused, and pulls me upwards to him, before gently biting the side of my jaw. “For what, Princess?”.

“For everything,” I say, “for being you”.

He opens his eyes again to look at mine, and I see his eyes shimmering like goldstone. At the corner of his mouth is a very subtle smile, and the point of his tooth shows. His lips are soft and his stubble is so attractive. He growls enjoyably like a beast.

I smile and laugh abruptly, and run my fingers through his hair, squeezing tightly. This makes his growl a little louder, and he grabs my wrists and holds them firmly. I bring my knee up to just behind his shoulder, and wrap my foot around him, turning my head to the left. He leans down next to my ear, and whispers “be good”, before biting my ear gently.

“I’m sorry, my love,” I say, and wrap my other leg around him, to lock my ankles together behind him, “It won’t happen again”.

Leon lifts up from my wrists, and wraps his arms around me to roll us over, and I end up laying on top of him. He caresses my hair lovingly, inhales deeply, and says “that’s my Princess”.

I raise my head up to look at him, and then sit up with my legs on either side of him. He places his hands on either side of my ribs, and I gently massage over his temples.

“You should hurry back to your room, before the others wake up,” I say, and lean down to rest my forehead on his.

I start to feel his warmth on my body, and a gentle pressure against my forehead. He is so warm, and getting warmer. He grips onto my waist tightly, and it hurts a bit. “I don’t want to go, Princess,” he says. His hands are so hot, I'm afraid they might burn me.

“Leon, please take a deep breath. Drink some water, and calm down,” I ask carefully, trembling.

Leon’s eyes calm to a deeper bronze colour, and I feel his energy becoming gentle. His eyes become dilated, as he takes a deep breath, and says “Oh god, I’m sorry. I should have left when you asked me to, Princess.” He gently lifts me up and rests me onto the bed, frowning and leaning forward, with his hands covering his face.

“Darling, it’s alright,” I say, and place my hand on his back. He turns to look at me from the corner of his eye, and it is a beautiful peridot green colour. I am really surprised.

He stands up and backs away from me, kneeling down and looking at the floor. “Please let me make it up to you, Princess”, he says, looking to the right and wiping his eye with his left wrist.

“Leon, really... It’s alright, just calm down,” I say, and stand up to move over to him, kneeling. He straightens up and relaxes his arms down on either side of himself. I place my hands on his shoulders, and look into his eyes lovingly. “My love, you are too hard on yourself. This isn’t easy for you. I know how you feel."

Leon frowns, looking at the floor. He wraps his arms around my waist, and holds me tight. I start to feel comfortable again, and see his aura shining beautifully. “Princess,” He starts to say, and leans back to look at me, raising his eyebrows together with a worried expression, “you deserve only love and kindness”.

I hear a knock at the door, and get up to slowly walk towards it, turning to look back at Leon; but he's gone.

I cover my face and start to cry, leaning forward to place my hand on the bedpost. I hold my heart chakra with my left hand - it hurts. It really hurts.

“Your highness, is everything alright?” Emma says as she leans slightly into the room, opening the door, “I’m sorry, your highness. I had to see if anything was wrong.”

I turn to look at Emma, and her eyes are glistening silver, she looks confused. “Emma, please give me a hug. I just really need a hug.”

Emma quickly makes her way to hug me, and I cry as we both stand together. She does her best to just be here for me. “It’s alright, Princess Hannah. It’s all going to be alright,” She says, as she holds me.

After a while, I wipe my face clean with the napkin she offered me, and placed my hand on the top of her head. “Emma, you are such a blessing. Thank you for helping me in my emotional moment.”

She smiles into a caring and innocent expression, helping me to stand up, “You are most welcome, Princess.”

I turn to lean over the bed, feeling inundated with pain, and say “Will you please fetch me the riding outfit, Emma?” I ask, and sit on the edge of my bed, reaching over to look at the amethyst necklace and earrings.

“Yes, Princess.” She says, and hurries into the next room. She returns just as quickly with my horse riding attire. “Here, your highness. Would you like me to call for the nurse to have a look at your ankle before you begin?”.

“No, Emma, that’s okay. Thank you.” I say, and nod towards the door. Emma curtseyed acutely before retreating out of the room. I open my satin emerald dressing gown, and change into my equestrian uniform.

As I start towards the door, I have a vision of Leon out in the garden with father, smiling and laughing. That makes me smile, and I feel a bit lighter. I pick up my feet, and straighten up my body, looking up at the ceiling and smiling as best I can.

When I reach the sunroom, I have another vision of Leon in the garden. He is leaning against the white marble pillar, gazing at the orchard. I smile, and open the door to enter the garden. Taking a deep and relaxing breath, I raise my arms and open my chest, smiling brightly at the sun.

“Ah! There the princess is now,” Father shouts as he sees me running out into the middle of the garden.

I take a deep breath and jump across the little pond, circling back to run towards Leon, and tackle him to the ground. “Good morning!” I sing out loudly, and laugh, smiling at him.

“Good morning, princess,” Leon smiles and laughs, catching me. I roll to the side, and he follows, trying to catch me. I turn and jump up from the ground, running towards the treeline as fast as I can. Leon gets up and runs after me, yelling out a huge echoing roar.

I turn to look at him, and side step to try and get away from him, but he reaches, and catches me. I scream loudly, and I can’t stop laughing. Leon really is so much fun.

“Leon, you ought to train that girl to have better manners,” Father jokes from a distance. “She will end up scaring off all the butterflies in the garden."

“Yes, your Majesty. I certainly agree with you there,” He jokes back, letting me go, and looking at me happily. We both look up at the sun, and then back at each other. I feel so full of joy and playfulness. I listen carefully, and the birds are all singing so beautifully.

“Leon, will you come with me on my ride this morning?” I ask, reaching up to place my hands on either side of his head, playing with his hair.

“Yes, Princess. Whatever you like,” He kneels down slightly, and stands back up again to bring my hands to his lips, and kisses them.

I take his hand, wave at the King, and lead Leon out of the garden towards the stable. I have a vision of my father waving back at me, and turning towards the castle entrance. Leon and I follow a trail between the evergreen trees that my father planted for me there. I smile for the entire journey, and finally we reach the horses.

“Wow, they are so enormous,” Leon says, as he looks at our family of four beautiful black Frisian horses.

“Aren’t they?” I smile happily, and turn to hold his hands, walking towards the horses.

“What are their names?” He asks, and gestures towards them.

“The eldest one is called Vincent,” I say, and point at him. “Then there is Smith, Holly, and Serendipity,” I say, smiling.

Leon gestures towards Smith, and smiles on the left side only, “I like that one, he seems like a bit of a challenge.”

Leon and I slowly ride along the trail back to the garden, and I hop off the horse, Serendipity, and lead her through the little white picket fence. I led her over to the little pond, and let her have a drink of the water. Leon’s horse, Smith, follows suit.

I look up at Leon, and open my hand towards him. “Leon, please can you tell me something?” I ask, and gaze lovingly at his features.

“Yes, Princess. Of course,” he says, smiling down at me from above.

“When you go to war, will you please remember me?” I frown at the grass, and hold over my heart chakra and solar plexus at the same time.

Leon covers his mouth for a moment, looking hurt. He puts his arm over his face, and leans forward as the feeling of heartbreak fills his entire being. He sniffs, and huffs out a shaken breath, looking at the water. He clearly cares about me a lot.

I kneel down near the water, and wash my hands in it, and then rinse my face, feeling like I may cry again as I think about him leaving.

My horse Serendipity lays down next to me, and sniffs at my shoulder, and I wrap my arm over her neck. The reflection in the water is shiny and clear, like a mirror. I look up at Leon again, and he is holding his mouth in contemplation. Then he raises his leg over the back of the horse and hops down, coming over to kneel down beside me and also rinse his face with the water.

He places his hand on my shoulder, and raises my chin with his finger, saying “Hannah, I will always remember you. In this life, and the next life. For a thousand years. For all of eternity. And even, when you and I have long passed on from this flesh, you and I will meet again.”

I smile and cry happily, and turn to hide my face in his chest, so grateful for his loving and comforting words.

After a while, Leon lifts me up from the ground, and carefully holds the back of my head with his hand, saying “It’s alright, Princess. Don’t worry. I am here now. I’d rather not leave”.

I look up into his eyes, and they are shining brightly, as a pot of golden honey. I raise my eyebrows in awe of his radiance. He looks around at the garden, and sees the dogs playing together and rolling around on the grass. One of the dogs walks over to him, and he kneels down to hold his hand out for the dog to sniff it. He smiles, and looks up at me.

I kneel down in front of him, and start to relax and feel totally comfortable, “Oh Leon, I am so pleased that you decided to stay with me for a while longer. I have really enjoyed your company all this time,” I say, feeling completely secure in his company.

Leon stands up perfectly straight, gazing lovingly into my eyes, and wrapping his arms around me. I feel his gentle warmth surrounding me, and see the clearest blue sky above us, with the whitest clouds. I knew at that moment that I wanted to marry him.

I wrap my arms around him as well, and smile. I look over at the dogs, who are chasing each other around happily. I smile adoringly at them, and look at him again. “Let’s bring the horses back to the stable, and go for a swim,” I say, feeling a little cheeky, and gently caress the left side of his face.

He bows his head, carefully resting it on my forehead. I lean my head back and close my eyes, opening my left hand at his side, enjoying the feeling of his presence. “That’s a great idea, Princess, then maybe we will go for a hike up the mountain.”

My vision becomes clearer now, as I reach for the reins of my beautiful horse, Serendipity, and smile adoringly at Leon as he leaps up onto the horse, and races through the gate. I laugh loudly, climb onto of my horse, and lean forward to chase after him. He reaches the stable so quickly, and circles back towards me, Smith blowing air at me as he prances past.

I smile, watching Leon jump down from his horse and run at a gallop over to me, places his hands on my hips, and lifts me up off of the horse, putting me down on the ground. I hold onto his hand, and pull him towards the garden, as hard as I can. He is so big and strong, and I can hardly wait to get to the lake and start swimming.

As Leon and I pass through the gate into the garden, we see my mother and father waving at us, and our four servants Clara, Sophia, Gabriel, and Michael happily awaiting our plans for the day. When we reach the first step of the entryway to the courtyard, a young man rushes around the corner towards us carrying a letter. Gabriel and Michael turn to stop him quickly, looking into his eyes before letting him through.

He walks a few more steps towards us, and bows slightly as he offers the letter to Leon.

“What is your name, young man?” Leon smiles at him kindly, taking the letter.

“Zachriel, your grace,” He says quietly, turning to glance at the King and Queen, “Lord Percival has sent word from the council.” Zachriel folds his hands behind his back, waiting for a response.

Leon nods his head and places his hand on Zachriel's shoulder, saying “Thank you, Zachriel, he probably only wishes to remind me of my responsibilities. Please let him know that I will be returning shortly to attend my duties, with news regarding the Princess.”

I could hardly help but notice Zachriel’s shiny blonde hair, and bright blue eyes. He appeared to grow more confident as the two spoke in the exchange, and his aura shifted from blue to white. He also had an interestingly placed freckle on the corner of his cheek, accompanied by two more on his forehead on the left side.

“Yes, your grace,” Zachriel says, and bows slightly, turning to bow to the King and Queen, smiling and rushing off around the corner of the castle. Mother and father nod at him smiling, and then look over at Leon and I.

“Leon, perhaps you could have a look at the letter later, as the Queen and I have a request,” Father announces as mother and he meet us at the half staircase.

“Of course, your majesty. It can certainly wait at least until after lunch,” He turns to smile at me reassuringly, and gently grasps my upper arm before returning his attention to them.

Mother brushes her hair past her ear on the left side of her head, and the sun shines on her soft wavy, blonde hair. She places her hand on my father’s back just between his shoulder blades, and says, “We’d like you to join us for an outing to the Lake, where we’ll have lunch at the pier.”

“That perfectly suits our plans, your Majesty, as the Princess and I had just agreed to go swimming there,” He laughs, and father laughs, covering his mouth.

Mother smirks and hits father on the shoulder with her fist, causing him to step off to the side and open both his hands toward her, smiling. “Helen,” He laughs again as mother crosses her arms.

“Richard, it is rude to laugh at people,” She frowns at him for a moment, and everyone stops laughing. She starts to place her closed fists on her hips, and then bursts out laughing, obviously joking. Everyone laughs together for a moment.

Gabriel and Sophia are gesturing to each other in the background, and Michael and Emma stand quietly, watching them and shaking their heads.

I lean over to watch them for a second, before mother turns to look at them. As she does so, they all stop and stand perfectly still with their hands folded in front of them, looking at the floor.

“Ah, yes. The four of you can go and join my servants Emma and Rachel as they prepare for our outing. The horses must be attended to, so please have someone do that now,” She says, smiling at them sweetly, glancing back and forth between Gabriel and Sophia.”

Father touches the Queen’s upper arm gently, saying “I’m sure the groundskeeper remembers his daily tasks, dear. No need to repeat yourself.”

Mother places her hand on her forehead for a moment, frowning at him, “Yes dear, I do get carried away at times with my position here. Perhaps I should relax. Although I must say, as my grandmother said to me countless times, that repetition builds memory, and so we should repeat ourselves in some cases.” She takes father’s hands in hers and relaxes her shoulders down, looking into his eyes compassionately.

“That’s alright, dear. I understand that you only wish for the household to function smoothly,” He gently squeezes her hands in his, and turns his head to nod at Leon and I, smiling, before guiding mother back towards the castle doors.

Leon and I follow them a few feet behind, and have a tickle fight on the way, trying not to laugh.

Leon and I sneak off towards my room quickly while the King and Queen head to the kitchen in order to prepare for our outing at the Lake. He tries to pinch me, but I dodge his attempt quickly by side-stepping to the left, and accidentally knock over a flower vase from China. He catches it and places it back up on the display table.

“Careful, now. That was a gift. We wouldn’t want to anger the dynasty with our carelessness, would we?” Leon says with a smirk, and readjusts the flowers so that they are evenly distributed.

I smile and place my hand over my heart, looking into his eyes. I take his hand, and lead him along the hallway towards my room. As we open the door to my room, we see our mother cat Bast staring at us from her favorite spot on the persian rug, so we stare back at her for a moment. She then lifts her leg and lowers her head slowly to start bathing herself with a most serious expression on her face, so I laugh and shoo her away. She scampers off out the door, and we hear her three kittens meowing at her in the distance.

“Leon,” I start to say, closing the door behind us, and turning to look at him.

“Yes, Princess?” He replies, reaching up to brush my hair past my ear.

“I do have some gifts for you, as well,” I say, smiling. I stand up on my toes and touch my nose to his for a second, before darting around him quickly with a spin as I rush across the room and kneel down next to the bed. I reach under the bed and pull out a chestnut foot locker. He kneels down beside me, and I lean forward to kiss him on the cheek, and whisper in his ear.

“Forever, my love,” I say gently under my breath, and he turns to hold both of my arms firmly, and kisses me on the lips. I hold his arms in mine, and return his kiss lovingly, before turning to open the chest.

I lift out a smooth and shiny luck dragon made of Jade. It has a long, wavy body and square shaped head, and its tail curls back over its body to form an infinite loop. Its smooth and shiny finish gives it the most beautiful glistening appearance in the sunlight, and reminds me of the wetlands that we visited for my sixteenth birthday.

“Ah, how interesting,” He says, taking it to turn it over and look at the details and feel them with his fingertips, “I wasn’t expecting something like that. I like it.”

“I’m so glad you like it, Leon,” I say, and reach for another gift from the chest. He places the dragon on the rug next to him, and smiles at me.

“This one was very difficult to find,” I say, placing the next gift in his hand. It is a gold ring with an amazonite scarab inlay, “It is a very old and valuable amulet.”

Leon smiles and looks at the ring, and tries it on the last two of his fingers. It just fits on the little finger, and stays comfortably there, “Aw, that is lovely. And so clean, and looks new.”

I smile at him and bring his hand up to my lips to kiss the ring, and whisper “May your travels in this world be always safe and full of wonder, my love”.

He places his closed fist over his heart, and covers his mouth with his other hand. I see the tears building up in his eyes, and he places his hands on either side of my head, squeezing my hair gently as he leans his forehead against mine.

I place my hands over his, and grasp them gently. I hesitate for a moment, just inhaling gently and enjoying his warmth, until I lean forward to kiss him. He holds me tightly to prolong our moment, and then lets me go. I look up into his eyes, and they are the deepest blue, and a tear drips slowly from his left eye.

After a moment, I gesture towards a painting that is hanging on the wall. It is of our great homeland forest in the autumn, as the leaves have changed to various colors amongst the heat of the sun as it transcends into the center of the sky. There seems to be a very faint halo of light in the clouds around the sun, and I stop for a moment to enjoy looking at it.

#Princess #Lord #Castle #Story #Novel #Poetry #writing #angels #spirituality #romance #love #Friesland #England #King #Queen

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beanvoyage1 · 9 months

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Exploring the Art of Espresso Bean Selection: A Comprehensive Journey

Introduction: Navigating the Espresso Bean Maze

Embarking on the mesmerizing odyssey of selecting the perfect coffee beans for crafting the ultimate espresso is akin to venturing through a captivating labyrinth of flavors, aromas, and roasting nuances. In this multifaceted guide, we shall unravel the intricate web of factors that underpin the selection of coffee beans for your espresso-making escapades, where complexity is the order of the day.

Understanding Espresso Beans: The Not-So-Ordinary Beans

Before we plunge headlong into the enigmatic world of espresso bean selection, it's imperative to grasp the idiosyncratic characteristics that set these beans apart from their regular coffee counterparts. Espresso beans are, in essence, the stars of the show, destined for roasting and blending acrobatics, which culminate in that divine shot of espresso, crowned with a luxuriant crema.

Types of Coffee Beans for Espresso: A Flavorful Odyssey

Within the kaleidoscope of coffee varietals, three juggernauts stand tall on the espresso stage - the illustrious Arabica, the robust Robusta, and the ever-enticing blends. Each bean variety unfurls a symphony of notes and nuances, captivating the discerning coffee enthusiast with its unique composition.

1. Arabica Beans: The Symphony of Elegance

Arabica, the prima donna of coffee beans, serenades the palate with its nuanced symphony of flavors, delicate acidity, and the ethereal sweetness that dances across your taste buds. These beans, often hailed as the aristocrats of the coffee world, exhibit a remarkable prowess for elevating the espresso experience to a sublime level of sophistication.

2. Robusta Beans: The Bold and the Robust

In stark contrast, Robusta, the unapologetically robust counterpart, delivers a thunderous performance characterized by intense boldness and a caffeine punch that commands attention. With a heartiness that's often favored in traditional Italian espresso blends, these beans create a stage for a powerful and commanding espresso experience.

3. Espresso Blends: Crafting Flavor Harmonies

Espresso blends, akin to masterful orchestras, meld various bean types to orchestrate harmonious flavor profiles that cater to diverse tastes. These blends are the product of artistic finesse, striking the balance between body, aroma, and the elusive crema, ensuring a rapturous and well-rounded espresso affair.

Roast Level Matters: The Dance of Flames and Beans

Roast level, in the world of espresso, plays a role reminiscent of a choreographer, directing the elegant dance of flames and beans to create a sensory masterpiece. Here, we encounter the trinity of roast levels, each adding a layer of complexity to the espresso canvas.

1. Light Roast: Embracing Bright and Fruity

Light roast beans, kissed by gentle flames, retain their inherent brightness and fruitiness, offering an elegant espresso experience that showcases delicate acidity and floral notes, a ballet of flavors that's sure to delight the refined palate.

2. Medium Roast: Balancing Act in the Espresso Theater

In the midst of the espresso theater, medium roast beans strike a harmonious balance between the natural flavors of the bean and the caramelized notes of roasting. The versatility of medium roasts grants you a passport to an espresso world teeming with balanced nuances, appealing to a wide spectrum of preferences.

3. Dark Roast: The Dramatic Finale of Espresso

Dark roast beans, in a dramatic crescendo, plunge into the abyss of roasting, emerging with intense smokiness and a bittersweet, almost brooding, character. A shot of espresso made from these beans delivers a captivating blend of bold flavors, akin to a thrilling opera that leaves a lasting impression.

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Single Origin vs. Blends: The Duality of Choices

Navigating the duality of single-origin beans and masterful blends adds another layer of intrigue to your espresso journey. The choice here often boils down to the question of depth versus consistency.

1. Single-Origin Beans: Exploring Terroir and Uniqueness

With single-origin beans, you embark on a voyage of discovery, tracing the flavors to a specific geographic region. These beans beckon with their unique stories, allowing you to explore the intricacies of coffee terroir and uncover a world of singular espresso experiences.

2. Espresso Blends: The Symphony of Consistency

Espresso blends, on the other hand, offer a harmonious and consistent performance, akin to a well-rehearsed symphony. Roasters deftly blend different bean types to create a tapestry of flavors that's reliably pleasing, ensuring a steady and familiar companion in your espresso endeavors.

The Freshness Factor: Keeping the Espresso Flame Alive

Preserving the essence of freshness becomes an imperative task in your espresso quest, akin to safeguarding the purity of an art form. Here's how to ensure your beans stay at the zenith of their vibrancy:

1. Purchase Whole Beans: The Fresher the Whole

Whole beans, like sealed secrets, retain their inner sanctum of flavor and aroma. Invest in whole beans and release their potential by grinding them just before the grand performance.

2. Proper Storage: The Chamber of Preservation

Storing your beans in an airtight chamber, away from the prying eyes of light, heat, and moisture, preserves their mystique and ensures they remain in prime condition.

3. Roast Date: The Chronology of Freshness

Seek beans that bear the mark of recent roasting, for they hold the promise of unbridled freshness, a chronicle of flavor waiting to be unleashed.

Aroma and Flavor Profiles: A Sensory Extravaganza

In your espresso odyssey, an acute sense of aroma and flavor profiles becomes your guide, ushering you through a sensory extravaganza where subtlety meets intensity:

1. Fruit and Floral Notes: Aromatic Overture

Within your espresso, seek the beguiling whispers of fruit and floral aromas, introducing complexity and charm to your palate's grand performance.

2. Nutty and Chocolatey Undertones: The Depth of Richness

Delve into the depths of espresso beans, and you may encounter the beguiling embrace of nutty and chocolatey undertones, offering layers of depth and a touch of sweetness.

3. Acidity Levels: The Symphony of Acidity

Reflect on the ebbs and flows of acidity, deciding between the lively, vivacious notes that pirouette on your palate and the mellower, mellifluous ones that offer a gentle, soothing cadence.

Grind Size and Consistency: Precision in Performance

The grind size and consistency of your coffee beans form a critical duet in the espresso orchestra, where precision reigns supreme. The grinder becomes your conductor's baton, guiding the symphony of flavors:

1. Espresso-Specific Grinders: The Tools of Precision

Equip yourself with a burr grinder, designed with the precision of a watchmaker, to achieve a consistent grind size, elevating your espresso to a pinnacle of perfection.

2. Adjusting Grind Size: The Quest for Finesse

As a maestro of your espresso performance, experiment with grind size adjustments, fine-tuning the extraction and unlocking the symphonic complexities of your chosen beans.

Consider Your Espresso Machine: The Mechanical Virtuoso

The espresso machine itself, a mechanical virtuoso, takes its place in the orchestra, dictating the tempo and intensity of the performance. Your choice of machine guides the path:

1. Espresso Machine Type: Manual vs. Automatic

As you stand at the crossroads, consider whether your espresso journey calls for a manual affair, requiring your skillful touch, or an automatic one, offering convenience and consistency. The machine becomes your partner in the symphony, setting the tone for your espresso artistry.

2. Adjustability: Crafting Espresso Masterpieces

Some machines, with their adjustability, grant you the power of a composer, allowing you to fine-tune variables like temperature and pressure, orchestrating espresso masterpieces that resonate with your soul.

Sourcing Quality Beans: The Treasure Hunt

The quest for quality espresso beans is an expedition akin to a treasure hunt, where the map leads to hidden gems and artisanal finds. Let us navigate the labyrinthine pathways to discover the finest beans:

1. Local Roasters: The Alchemists of Flavor

The local roasters, akin to alchemists, may hold the key to unparalleled flavor. Visit their sanctums to unearth unique beans and forge connections with the wizards of the coffee world.

2. Online Options: The Digital Bazaar of Beans

The digital realm offers a bazaar of beans, where diversity reigns supreme. Dive into the vastness of online vendors, explore their offerings, and heed the whispers of fellow travelers through reviews and recommendations.

Budget and Pricing: The Art of Balance

Budget considerations add an intriguing twist to the tale, akin to a subplot in your espresso saga. Here, we explore the art of balancing quality and affordability:

1. Quality vs. Budget: The Tightrope Act

The tightrope between quality and budget requires delicate balance. Seek out affordable options from reputable roasters that align with your flavor preferences, and you may discover hidden treasures.

2. Buy in Bulk: The Economics of Savings

Consider the economics of bulk purchases, a strategy that may lead to long-term savings, especially if the allure of espresso beckons you frequently.

Experiment and Taste: The Ever-Evolving Palate

In the grand theater of espresso, experimentation and the cultivation of a discerning palate form the core of your journey. Here, the symphony of flavors knows no bounds:

1. Trying Different Beans: The Overture of Exploration

Embark on a voyage of exploration, sampling a cornucopia of beans to decipher your favorite flavor symphony.

2. Brewing Techniques: The Art of Expression

As an artist, experiment with diverse brewing techniques, each adding its own brushstroke to the canvas of your espresso masterpiece.

Conclusion: The Epiphany of Choosing the Perfect Beans

In the crescendo of your espresso bean odyssey, the selection of the perfect beans emerges as a profound epiphany, a culmination of your journey through complexity, flavor, and artistry. Whether your heart beats for single-origin elegance or the blended harmonies of espresso orchestration, the key is to savor each cup as a unique expression of your passion and craftsmanship. Begin your quest for the quintessential espresso bean today, and let the rich, diverse tapestry of flavors transport you to realms of coffee nirvana. Raise your cup to the symphony of espresso and the enigmatic allure of bean selection. To coffee lovers and espresso aficionados alike, salute!

Additional Resources and References

https://youtu.be/X3HW6MfRe7A

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