CHAINED FLOWERS ( z. dragneel )

01 | "the deathless."

01
{ the deathless. }

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' h e
w h o
f o r g e t s '

- -

SHE CANNOT BELIEVE IT. He hurt everything in his path. A curse? Because what else could that miserable, unfathomable, immeasurable amount of d e a t h that clasped the surface of her skin be? A powerful magic that was perhaps similar to that of their curse in measure? Maybe the wizard or whatever sick, twisted being that put them into this fiasco is the same with the perpetrator of that curse.

But she does not remember her beloved having a curse, the burden of bearing one was hers alone. She was meant to be the one who carried the weight of their deaths on her back. She was Atlas for the world that was both of them, the tragic lovers.

"That was—" she stammers, stops straight from finishing the words that come out of her lips. She's unsure about so many things and everything was complicated. But this? This curse of his that withers every flower, grass and tree? This was pushing the extremes of definitions.

The cruel, horrible world.

She would have sobbed, let tears fall from her eyes, but after so many years, she has been jaded by the pain. She is being punished for mistakes she cannot remember, yes, but she can never truly repent for things that are invalid in the first place. Maybe it was the first five years that she cried her throat raw and murmured apologies to the gods above. Apologized for sins she doesn't remember committing, but when the gods remained unyielding and the decades passed, Esen was reduced to nothing but a shell.

A beautiful, tragic shell.

"It's the curse of contradiction," he whispers, his raven hair framing his face with matching obsidian eyes that remind her of ravens. "No one has survived it before, but you— how? It is supposed to take all life."

The boy who was her everything laid so low, merely a shadow of his former glory. Both are submitted to a life of eternal suffering. But his eyes, oh those accursed eyes, curious and there is even an alien innocence that piques her interest and soft black that reminds her of eyes with glimmers of promises, bedroom voices and caresses on her cheek.

A breath escapes her lips and Esen shakes her head to shake away the thoughts of love. There is an unexpected development in this setting, and she knows that is absolutely and utterly moronic to even entertain the thought that something is bound to change and she tries to bury the maybe it will stop the cycle... but Esen, despite everything, forms that stupid flicker of hope in her chest.

"Esen...?" he questions and his voice is low, matches his appearance perfectly but it is the way he says her name with a hint if familiarity that she closes her eyes and feels again.

She remembers all the heartache, the heartbreak, the pain, tears, suffering, but she does not remember what she loved in him. What she wanted to see forever and ever. She doesn't know if it is the kind eyes that contrast her dead lover eyes or the voice that is like melted butter spread on a warm piece of toast.

Oh what she would not give to be with him— Esen stops that train of thought.

She is such a fool.

A hopeful one at that.

"You— you—" he stutters, a mirror of her earlier actions. But her face is dead, emotions bottled. Many decades have passed and she has tamed them. Feelings are merely the tiniest speck of emotions she allows to escape. Truest ones are never really revealed. Especially hope efflorescing in the chasm of her chest and fueled by the lazy rush of prayers and murmurs in her bloodstream.

"You're alive?" he finally manages to spit out the word.

Esen doesn't reply, just looks at him as if he is an insect she is scrutinizing with her gaze, a winged creature on a transparent jar. She had brazenly announced that he would fall in love with her earlier, yet the strongest response she received is that of the question that she lived. She obviously is alive and well.

People die when they are killed do not apply to the insanity of this situation.

"You're alive?!" he raises his voice a little bit and if there were still living birds in this portion of the forest, they would probably flee because of the magnitude of the volume.

She still does not reply to the imbecilic inquiry, Instead, she looks deep into his eyes. His eyes are nothing like the last one albeit they are beautiful. No sharp angles, but ones that are curved and still perfect. She will love those features for the days to pass. She will.

And it is hard not to.

-

e n d.
[ thank you for reading chained flowers. ]
c o m i n g:
02 | "the companion."

• since i've finished plastic flowers, this is my main priority for now :) then i'll go over to paper flowers and then efflorescing edelweiss :)