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[catleha]

"Do you hate me?"

            unprompted /. @hyethla    

     ‹  IF ONLY MATTERS WERE THAT EASY, DEVOID OF EVERY NUANCE; if only, if only, if only, say it a few times more, perhaps the inevitable outcome would eventually change. Maybe vowels would rearrange, eradicating a fate, a bitterness she could bear no more. Aye, mayhaps if one could only pretend to have forgotten the grave tidings of yesteryear; a rogue’s hunched figurine, scorched glare envisioning his lips moving, mouthing the very words she had feared more than anything found in this corporal realm: death, destruction wrought through her very own hand. – && the world was gone. Spinning, endlessly; white noise, a hot spark rushing down her very spine / scream, yell, cry. REALIZE WHAT YOU HAVE DONE.

         && blindness had never been so cruel, had never been so unkind! Oh, to be unable to read his very mien, incapable of gauging the nature of his shock, his REACTION, his ... aye, his hate? Would he blame her? Cursing her name under his breath -- ? I regret, I regret, I regret it all; childish & unfair / a mere girl full of scorn, deeming the late antecedent naught but a impediment. – how vile the Gods were, how heartless, how … how … devoid of fault. Why, it had been you, & you alone.

         Composure kept back then, teeth ground relentlessly / filed nails dug into softest palm / oh so calm, oh so CAPABLE of handling tidings so devastating, so sorrowful. Why, what did she mean to you? Too soft, too kind, too caring. Aye, yet too undeserving of a demise caused by magic’s careless nature. – recall a mumbled word, a single nod [he could read it in your very mien, are you aware?]; && flee. Eloping into the wilds, blindly trashing through the undergrowth. CURSED be emotions, CURSED be own pride / forlorn, plagued by a loss that left a void; why, why, why did it effect you that much? Why did it hurt? What did she mean to you? WHAT DID SHE MEAN TO YOU, PRAY TELL??

        Say, are you succumbing to the same sentiment now? Frantic grief, silent tears shed in utter solitude, with a single hand clawed into the fabric of her coat?. Lo, sense blood running cold, a pang of guilt felt at the back of throbbing head / staggering as if she had just taken a hammer blow to the chest? Body trembling / breath held. No sound passed one’s lips / suffocate. As if back at the beginning, as if tossed back to a point of harrowing doubt & survivor’s guilt [oh so undeserving of second chance]; punished & damned to wander, to remain, to see physical form rot & wither, sensing decay every passing hour. 

       Perhaps the Gods had picked a most fitting destiny for a woman of own kind [hardened, remorseless, ruthless, vile / vile / VILE]; nonsense. Toil more, regret more, RELAPSE & REMEMBER: flow, blinding light. The sound of gushing aether, the sentiment of being BURNT alive whilst holding on, last glance cast towards Thancred close by [oh, I have hurt you the most, have I not?]. – how effortless it had seemed, to cast a spell that ancient, that FEARED & PROSCRIBED. Ah, perhaps he would live / once upon a time that had seemed like such a noble thing to be reminiscent of; what was it now, pray tell, if not a shameful memory / dreadful, carved into her fractured heart. -- marred muscle beating oh so heavily; poor thing,  compressed through a myriad of emotions [repressed, repressed] & words she would not mutter & memories she would CONDEMN: of a dead girl, a conjurer lost in the stream. 

       Blind & incapable of distinguishing features in the very mass that built Minfilia’s THE ORACLE’s form, one could not help but wonder: does she wear her hair like the antecedent once did? Petite braids set against her scalp, a spiked ponytail, bangs framing a rather sleek visage, high cheekbones, gentle eyes oh so inapt in imitating old master’s scornful grimace. – oft cursed at, seen as naught but a nuisance, not able to comprehend the very workings of her field. An enforcer of superfluous regulations; too placid, lacking Louisoix’ stoicism. Does she wear a traditional dress, laden with frilly accessories / pointless weaponry attached to her very hip? 

         Does she?

      Silence stretches on, other’s REQUEST hanging above her very neck akin to a Damocles sword; sharpened edge set against the nape, drawing blood / prompting a wound called self-consciousness [HATE]. Say, Minfilia, have you come back to haunt her? To trade a life for a life & return whilst lifestream would eat away your murderer’s very husk? RELAPSE & REMEMBER: drifting through the aetherial realm, listening to own dwindling pulse. 

       ' Do you hate me? '        Does she? 

     ❛ Quite the inquiry. ❜  taciturn. factual. clipped. – devoid of emotions, a voice steeled by a hardened heart [she weeps, internally]. Lo, she moves again; taking a single calculated step, scorched gander flung across enchanted candles. – a wayfinder, a focal point. REFUSE TO LOOK AT HER. Distract yourself, distract yourself, distract yourself. – papers, scriptures, black leather grimoire, white pages, dark letters, a glimmer of red, ah RED akin to the very blood dripping off balled digits. Blood? AYE, recall the antecedent / HER [aye, the one you killed]; magic is vicious, is it not? It gives & it takes, it feasts & it spits out. – focus, FOCUS. Nay, she could not.

     Heart racing, head aching; ah, the pounding of her pulse, limbs growing feeble / feckless / frail! Hot & cold. Pale & tenuous, flat palms suddenly slammed onto the desk below. – cue a pause, dull glare cast onto the wall. The flicker of candles, an aetherial signature she used as … as a focal point, aye. To navigate, to move swiftly through the caves dug into Rak’tika’s manifold roots / shying away from the very SUN; supersaturated planes that had begun to make ‘seeing’ oh so difficult. A hazard, a … an inconvenience. Something meant to be worked around, indeed. 

     Perhaps this specter was the same kind of obstacle. 

     ❛ Pray – ❜ she begins, trailing off as if lost in thoughts. -- did they truly look alike? The same mellow gaze, the same meek smile prone to grow & fade away? The same ash blonde hair, the same gestures frantically done whenever Cultured Conjurer refused to cooperate yet again? Mien distorts, tensed by blatant agony. – here’s to one’s grandest sin, the foolery of man forever embedded in her every pore. A WALKING / TALKING REMINDER: of hubris, self-martyrdom, failure.– ah, she feels much & more, with one’s back turned & hunched over. Voice hoarse [harsh, moreso], steadied by stoicism alone; hands busying themselves with parchment scattered across the very desk. – yes. ❛ -- you never gave me a reason to do so, did you? ❜