down the burning ropes

Artemisia Eternity · 04-03-2012, 04:12 AM

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541 → Here, have a Lorrtarded poem. Maybe then you'll reconsider my love.

The steadiness with which his snakelike eyes settled on her was an alarming announcement in of itself. Had she managed to entrap all of his thoughts for that singular moment? Her eyes widened at the mere idea of it, and her step quickened as if to flee from the overwhelming notion. Then it was gone again, just like that; it might as well have been a trick of the moonlight, or if one had been present, a trick of the firelight. Now she wasn't even sure it had happened at all. Her mind told her otherwise. Already being filed away in a chamber all its own, it carefully fell into place. There it would remain until she called it again, when it would come flying forward.

With her rudimentary alphabet she'd one scribbled on every surface she could reach, in the ruin she so often liked to hide away in of course. If it wasn't the beginning of a spiral into madness, she wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. Of anything. Everything was still foreign, yet she thirsted to know it all. It was a confusing concept, to want to know everything, but when would she know she'd succeeded? Would there ever be a stone she hadn't turned?

She remembered the words more vividly than anything else in the world. Crystal clear and always lurking in the corners of her mind, they dislodged themselves every once in a while to float aimlessly and then fall back in line. These were the sorts of things that kept her awake at night.

Devil’s playground in my head,
Making circles ‘round my bed,
I—,
Can’t be found,
Won’t make a sound.

There’s a chance I could be dead,
That’s exactly what he said,
Crawling across the bleeding ground,
That’s when he sent his hound.

His interest was the most surprising development of the evening. Her King didn't seem upset with her meeting his gaze if just for a moment, but then she didn't mean to be disobedient or fall out of her typically subservient habits. Salvia was his favorite, but eventually she would be turned over for something shinier or more useful. She looked up to the woman more than she probably should have, but then, they looked the most alike when it came to Eris and Larkspur's children. The coffee-colored child maintained a white-knuckle grip on the hope that her muscle might give way to a somewhat womanly figure like hers, but as with everything else, time would tell. And its progress was agonizingly slow. She ached for the day when she might understand, when she could be content.

Still watching him as carefully as ever, her acknowledgement of the mental war going on behind her eyes had done nothing to slow its progress. Only when he prompted her to speak again with a question did she begin to think over the answer again. Choosing and sorting the words she needed, rearranging them, it felt like a large scale scrabble game. I want my mind to be my own. I want information... Yes, I want the world, and if learning could give her that, then so be it. Finally, she prodded him in turn. Why?

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