#something unresolved inside me had me on edge so i truly believed she was angry at me when obviously why would she be

[toothmarqed]

crying bc my friend took one and a half minutes to respond to a text lol it’s ok tho she’s not mad we’re winning boys we’re beating these abandonment allegations

[blogmollylane]

Extract from a much larger project

So this is part of something I hope to work into a much longer piece and I am interested to hear what people think. Please be nice, I think the internet has enough negativity already, lets not add to it.

The Tale of Kindred Sprits

Oblique osiria roses, in hues of silver-white and scarlet-red, encased in suspended bird cages above the reflecting pool. Sporadically roses had escaped their pendant confinements. These lucky ones had wound themselves serpentine around their former prisons, climbing the shackles in defiance. Surrounded by vaulted windows admitting in the last evanescent rays of the setting sun, there Tristian sat by the pool’s edge.  Basking in the private serenity of the rotunda’s current kenopsia as sparrows’ euphonious serenades kept him company. Such a rare indulgence to savour in.

               Exhaling, he let go another lungful of smoke, watching the grey wraiths waltz in obscure patterns before fading away. Only the rich oaky tang of its brief existence lingers in the floral air. Eying the fallen petals drifting on the still waters, he mused if like constellations, they too delivered prophecies. Their positions, giving inklings to the mysteries Providence like the lines on his palms. Perhaps if better skilled in the art of deviation, Fate’s past designs could have been descried ahead of tragedy striking.

               Fingers swept back strands of silver hair from his face; he took in the left eye. Once there was a perfect carbon copy of its right-side twin, another bright sapphire iris. Now a pitch-black pit encircled by raw, angry scars stared back.

Enough tears were shed in the bloody aftermath of the mutilation. Ravenous wrath lived within him, binding it’s time for vengeance. Tristian acknowledged its rising presence, but held it back fast, never losing grip.  Rage yield, remained patient and sharpened talons in preparation. The perpetrator may be roaming freely in the Diamond’s hall, their leverage sitting pretty for now. What seethed beneath Tristian’s skin, ardent in his veins, volatile in his soul was what drove him. Their eventual ruin would be worthwhile and wrath will have its feast.

Glass doors swung open. Startled birds flew from their perches and footfalls click-clacked on the ivory-ebony chequered floor. Lady Delacroix. Her trembling fists were clenched so horribly tight, her nails left behind miniature crescent scars and gained fresh scarlet specks underneath. Her long eyelashes brim tears yearning to break free, racing to the edge. Head hung low, flaxen curls ragged. Wisps of baby’s breaths woven into her loose braids drooping over.

Most people never took heed of these tiniest details. If they did, they left her in the hollow loneliness to put her self back together. Jagged puzzle pieces that didn’t fit, acting as daggers that pierced her unhealed heart, too alien to recognize shards of their former selves. Walls, meticulously built and exhaustedly rebuilt, in danger of collapsing again. Crumbling bricks already bearing the wear of prior takedowns. Sandcastles had better resistance. Moisture spring from her eyes, but crying was not a healthy release. Crying was a filthy habit and she didn’t want another relapse.

But Tristian caught sight of her a pigment of sorrow, a rosy glow exchange for red splotches.  He didn’t know why he did it at that particular moment. Out of sympathy was the original hypothesis. He calls her by name, but not her real name. The name that was her purported birthright, but wasn’t truly hers. Followed by a stupid question.

“Lady Delacroix. Lady Delacroix, are you alright?”

Shoulders sagged, she picks up the pace.

“Erica?”

She halts, surprised. Discreetly wipes away a lone tear that had eluded her defences before gyrating around. Crooked her lips into a small, frail smile accessorized with verdure orbs that have banished their original sparkle.

“Yes, your Highness?”

“Are you alright? You seem upset.”

The automatic lie of “Oh no, I’m fine” slipped out.

Tristian frowned, inhaling fresh nicotine. His right eye, a lone spotlight fixated on her. This acute opia coerced that mastered grin a little too wide, glued two female feet to the floor. Far worse than the blinding journalistic flashlights; they were searching for faults. Erica couldn’t fathom what Tristian was looking for.

He came closer. Too close, far too close. Close enough for her to smell dried ink, ember and mint off him. Fingernails dig deeper. “You sure?”

“I... just needed a breather that’s all. It’s so stifling here this evening.”

Please let me go.

“I imagine that one so used to the wide open spaces that your old home back in Pyrite had to offer, you are still getting use to the confines of the Diamond.”

Actually, I left one cage to enter into another.

“Indeed,” Erica swallowed, “At least, we are safe here up in the clouds. That was your father’s initial intentions when he first drew up plans for its construction after the deaths of his brothers and your grandfather.”

“My father is not a practical man, Erica. He chooses style above substance. The Diamond’s main purpose is to be a personification of his powers first and foremost, a permanent grand exhibition celebrating his glorious eminency second. He did not want the royal residence to share the same ground as the common folk. Safety was not on top of his priorities. Image was.”

“You called me Erica again.”

“I think we can lessen the formalities in private, don’t you?”

Erica found it strange No one really pays attention to what she had to say regardless of content. Her voice was radio silence, background noise, insignificant...

“I should go. The evening star will arrive soon. Apologies for disturbing you.”

“No need to act contrite Erica.” He leaned in, “But if something has-“

“It hasn’t!”

A hard sigh and a mumbled sorry for the snap interruption. Obscure the splinter of the warring tempest below. Guilt rotting inside, its oxidization pricking beneath her unblemished skin. One of the many same old unresolved feelings piling up for years now. She didn’t mean it.

“I’m fine, really, I am.”

“Do I scare you Erica?”

“No.” Lies persisted on tumbling out. He didn’t believe her, of course. Let’s tell a rueful half truth then. “A... little,” she barely whispered, rich teal heels becoming fascinating.

“And what is it that terrifies you?”

“I don’t know what’s in your mind. I get the impression that-“she falter, vacillation halted any finished sentence transpiring, afraid of probable costs, rummaging around for safe words. “That there’s something that aggravates you, pestering at you, gnawing at you. You haven’t found the resolution yet. You believe that you have taken precautions, making a friend of it. But it wants to break free and when it does...”

Sparrows suppress their breath; no sing-song alleviated this silence. Faintest of changes in Erica’s heartbeat, at a higher volume than typical. Tristian contemplated on her words. Billowing cigarette smoke clouded his face, never phasing, masking his cerebral interior. Eyebrows narrowed intently as he gazed back up to the pensile art structure with its florid coils, as if asking it for advice.

“May I ask how you came up with that observation?” he finally said.

“Depends on how you will take it... Tristian.”

“I’m tougher than I look, Erica. Comes with the media saturated territory. I’m interested to hear your findings on me.”

“Well, if you say so,” she paused slightly before resuming, “Whenever we’re in the same room, you seem irate to be there with no proven cause. I don’t know if it’s my doing or just merely my presence that unnerves you.”

Tristian’s feature’s softened. “Erica, I don’t hate you if that is what you are assuming.”

“I wasn’t!” she panicked that he could interpret her thoughts superior to her own translation to his, unpleasant heat rising in her cheeks.

Erica had always preferred the comfort of what the stars pinpointed to, not ellipsism. That’s what terrified her most about Tristian, and to a much larger extent panoptical strangers. Their inauspicious indefiniteness, difficult to decipher unlike the movements of clinquant nocturnal auroras.

This decoding into the conundrum that was Tristian was convoluted even more when a masculine amused chuckle caused her to return her focus on the suedette fabric of her shoes. Perplexment conflated with discomfiture on her face. She stole a peep, purloining a faint smile from the spare, a concise vision far removed from the usual sullen presence.  

“What is so funny?”

“Apologies Erica. I didn’t mean to be unkind. I am also sorry to have given you that impression. It was not intentional. Perhaps, we should have gotten better acquainted on our own terms before forming such opinions.”

“Then what do you think of me?”

“Of you?”

“I gave you my thoughts. Only fair if you give me yours.”

Tristian took another deep meditative drag. Erica was looking up at him, a bit braver now, waiting patiently for an answer. He studied her for a prolonged moment.

“You’re made of sunshine Erica. When people try to eclipse that radiance, you somehow find a way to let it shine through. An admirable trait to have.”

Quite the compliment to receive. Blinking eyes search for mistruths which turned out to be a fruitless endeavour. Mouth slightly tugs at the corners, almost curves upwards. Unsteady heat warms the back of her neck, escalating in her cheeks. Still found it hard to believe. Nonetheless, found her hollow self filled with warmth and flickers of light. She murmured thanks, for that was the polite thing to do, deciding it was best to leave it at that.

Thank you for reading.