the-original-lovelace

the-original-lovelace

This user account status is Approved

"Don't you get it?" she demanded, "There's no version of this where you come out on top," "You don't know that," "Yes, I do," she said, "I've been where you are. And this? It only ends one way,"

"Be careful what you wish for," the spirit said as she faded from sight, her voice echoing in the empty air, "Some doors should remain unopened..."

windy

She stands on the edge of the cliffs, eyes closed and face turned towards the setting sun. The wind is relentless, tugging at her clothes and turning her hair into a banner of scarlet and gold.

"I was broken a LONG time ago," she snarled, lips and teeth stained red with her own blood, "You can't hurt me," He chuckled. "Maybe," he said, "Maybe not," he picked up a small, sharp knife, the edge catching the light, "But I'm going to enjoy trying,"

Her kiss ignited a fire inside her, burning her from the inside out. Her world dissolved to her warmth, to the myriad of places their bodies met.

She whirled around, looking more startled than a deer realizing it was firmly in a skilled hunter's sights. "Wh-who's there?!" she cried into the darkness, eyes wide and darting. But there was nothing there. Or,at least, nothing she could see.

catch

Your hair blowing like hand-spun silk, Eyes like bluest cornflowers, Skin imperfectly perfect, Every time I catch my breath, you take it away.

shock

Eyes wide and heart threatening to pummel its way out from beneath her breast, she fixed her with a powerful glare as soon as the shock wore off enough for her to do so. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" she demanded, her voice unnaturally high, "What is WRONG with you?!"

The room is open, circular, made of windows rather than walls. The domed ceiling stretches high overhead, all metal work and etchings from a time gone by.

Lilyah didn't belong here, in this land of wind and sand. She was a child of the Blackmoors, a daughter of the wilder places and that Sabriel has no choice but to name this her final resting place feels something like a betrayal. She should have protected her; she'd promised she would. But, in the end, all the words in the realm weren't weighty enough to stop a well-placed arrow.

load more entries

writing since 2013 · 633 entries · 627 days shown up

each square is a day—lit means S.C. showed up.

68longest streak

627days written

2.6entries / week

on this day 13 years ago

S.C. wrote about knee
“She was contained, but unrestrained, fury. A distinctly feminine blur composed of little besides elbows and fists, knees and feet. It wasn't, she wasn't, HUMAN; she couldn't be. She was precision mad…”

the words S.C. reaches for

eyesvoicenowheadhandfacesmilehelpladywordssuresoundlipsskingirlbeneath