Didyme : I Am Not The Girl I Set Out To Be ( Musings ) - Blog Posts
She flashes the stranger a half-hearted smile; a tinge of sadness crossing her brow as she muses a moment on the man her brother had become - perhaps always was deep down. A tyrant, no amount of power would ever be enough for him. Much like their father to the drink, power was Aro's vice and here he was centuries on ensuring a constant supply. "I am not my brother, I would not make you do anything."
Placing the coat down next to her, Didyme sighs as she smooths the fabric of her skirt before rising to face her would-be executioner. "I believe in choosing the path that brings one delight. The one that makes your heart sing." Marcus. He had been her chosen path, and Aro couldn't even let her have that. She almost forgets herself, as if she is talking to a friend and not a foe. A grin of pearly whites quickly drops, her guard locking back into place. Throat clears, arms delicately folding at her chest. "Simply indulge me one last question, bloodhound, what would your chosen path be were you not sent to sniff out Aro's political enemies? Do you have a name?" Beneath the artificial contentedness she could sense in him, she was sure there had to be questions, desire to feel something true. She wonders if her Marcus was being held under the same pretense, her fingers reaching for the note to him in her pocket were she to not make it out of this.
“it is not my job to believe, or to listen. I think you know this.” Demetri spoke evenly, conscious effort to conceal his reaction to her. bloodhound, indeed. loyal tracker following a scent to its conclusion. capture or death. death or capture. again, again, again, again, again, & again. he didn’t let himself think about how long he had been doing this ( he still did not know that someone else would not let him think this, the thought only briefly entering his head before it would be ripped away again, leaving only an absence. "silly boy," Amun's voice would've echoed in his head, were his memories of his maker not blocked also ).
she was legend more than she was real to him. whispers traded ever-so carefully within the limits of the white marble halls. mournful laments of Aro. his beloved sister, slain in war. innocent of everything, guilty of nothing. in truth, always a justification rather than an expression of unadulterated grief.
he should get this over with. he should fulfill his duty. & yet, this was not an ordinary hunt. despite himself, curiosity rose in his chest.
“but if it was, what would you try & make me believe ?”
you are the patron saint of...
didyme: martyrs - the patron saint of those who died to be like you. maybe you died to be like them too: but at the end of it, you weren't like them. patron saint of tragedy. saint of saints. it's you who holds the hands of the holy dead, and you who has to answer: what do they do if they regretted it?
serena: bones - patron saint of frameworks. of structures. of solidity. patron saint of things that break. patron saint of things that are left behind. the bones survive long after the body, the building: what is there left for them, when the rest has gone? what do bones do, with nothing to hold around them? who holds the bones?
vera: heartbreak - not of comfort. not of condolences. there is a heart and there is a fissure, a fracture, something that starts to splinter and break open. you're the patron saint of the way a heart is rent open. the way it tears itself apart. patron saint of the rift. patron saint of the gash. when they say to "open your heart" to somebody, you are the patron saint of bleeding out.
chelsea: obsession - patron saint of devotion. of dedication. of passion. of everything you won't call it, in the spaces between. patron saint of holding tight to it until it bleeds. patron saint of pushing it too far. patron saint of staring into the sun until you're blind. patron saint of gazing onto beauty until you can't see anything anymore.
rosalie: horror - you're the patron saint of the dawning moment of realization. the patron saint of comprehension, maybe. the patron saint of understanding. the patron saint of knowing exactly what's going to happen. of seeing clearly. of not being able to look away.
maria: relics - patron saint of remembering. patron saint of holding something close. patron saint of holding on for too long. for a saint, a relic is often a part of the body, kept for some physical memento of their holiness. they are all in your hands, now: does it feel like remembrance? does it feel sanctified? are the dust and blood as precious as they're supposed to be?
tag drop 1