Windup-gwen - Thou Must Live, Die And Know

The Great Gubal Library

bridal carry your green bean boyfriend even if he’s twice as tall as you are  @hexwolfjinx

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Emet-Selch was never afraid of the dark.

Not until it swallows everything dear and holy.

Gone is the brightness of souls around him, the glittering and illumination, the sheer beauty of them. Now, there are only sparks, barely visible within their hulls.

Don’t, she had whispered, pleaded, argued. Don’t.

But there had been no other way, there had been.

No other way.

A soul split into thirteen parts, breaking apart even as he tried to catch her, dissipating into lightless sparks. Emet-Selch wonders briefly which spark has gotten what.

One, her smile, bright and overwhelming. Another, her sense of adventure, and with it, her curiosity and restlessness. Another, her wickedness, that spark and cruel curl of lips he so adored. Another, her anger, hot and brazen. Another, her kindness and soft touches. Another, her sighs, the ones she had reserved for the depth of night as they lost themselves in each other. Another, her beauty. Another, her wits, sharp and cutting. Another, her humor, both secret and open. Another, her silence, found in the moments between two breaths. Another, her sense of wonder, that widening of eyes and smile. Another, her sensuality. Another, her love for him.

He asks himself how he can feel so whole when his heart has been shattered across thirteen worlds. 

And Emet-Selch screams.

Seguir leyendo

“Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never once beautiful. It was just red.”

— Kait Rokowski (via zeychka)

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Persimmon trees in winter snow, an imagery of the 17th twenty-four solar term 霜降shuangjiang/frost fall.