02-11-2009, 12:52 PM
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She wasn't so sure what had drawn her out to the place where Andrezej had died, but it was the place that she had found herself hovering over. Rachias had marked the grave, but Corona had a feeling that she would never forget just where her blue-eyed sibling had buried him. Your orphaned sister, she corrected mentally, not picking up on the fact that she was now no different. But like Corona had Gabriel, Rachias had Arkham. Who was alive. Who she had unknowingly crossed paths with. Everything was still different to process, though time had certainly passed quickly enough. While snow still blanketed and clung tightly to the ground, Corona could feel the dampness in the air that was different from the ocean.
Being cold was about the only thing that spurred emotion out of her and that emotion was displeasure. The girl who had read long and hard about the way things affected man emotionally could stand there to tell herself that hanging onto it all wasn't a good thing, but she couldn't get past it. Easier said than done, that's what it was. Always easier said than done. Easier read than done. She had been a flurry of emotions internally, but so calm outside. He had smoked and so she had picked it up just to do it, but absently. But sometimes it was easier just to light the cigarette, as she had done now, but do nothing with it. Never smoke it, only let it burn.
It would only be when the cherry-hot end of it had burnt down to the end to seer at her fur and skin that she would drop it with a reaction. Any thoughts in the process were halted and dropped, a reaction saying that it was time to move on. So she stood there at the foot of Andrezej's grave, feet wet to the ankles from the earlier high tide with a cigarette burning slow away in one hand, both thinking and not. It wasn't about the brother she had lost that she thought about (because he was a heathen and not even deserving the name he had been given), but rather the things that Ahren had said to her the last time she had seen him.
“The fire is a disease in our blood,” and she dared it to burn her.
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Being cold was about the only thing that spurred emotion out of her and that emotion was displeasure. The girl who had read long and hard about the way things affected man emotionally could stand there to tell herself that hanging onto it all wasn't a good thing, but she couldn't get past it. Easier said than done, that's what it was. Always easier said than done. Easier read than done. She had been a flurry of emotions internally, but so calm outside. He had smoked and so she had picked it up just to do it, but absently. But sometimes it was easier just to light the cigarette, as she had done now, but do nothing with it. Never smoke it, only let it burn.
It would only be when the cherry-hot end of it had burnt down to the end to seer at her fur and skin that she would drop it with a reaction. Any thoughts in the process were halted and dropped, a reaction saying that it was time to move on. So she stood there at the foot of Andrezej's grave, feet wet to the ankles from the earlier high tide with a cigarette burning slow away in one hand, both thinking and not. It wasn't about the brother she had lost that she thought about (because he was a heathen and not even deserving the name he had been given), but rather the things that Ahren had said to her the last time she had seen him.
“The fire is a disease in our blood,” and she dared it to burn her.