XOlt3
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Summary
Have you ever been hungry?
A kind of inescapable pit in your chest, a pounding ache between ribs, something so out of place. Dread eats at your lungs, settles deep within your bones, messes with your head.
Hunger is of violence, it is of all the ugly reflections that stare back at you in the rippling water. It is of hatred, it is of guilt, horrifyingly tragic jealousy.
Have you ever been starving?
A sensation so familiar, a chillingly warm embrace, the smell of home. It wants nothing more than to keep you by its side, enwraps you kindly in a cot.
Starvation is the sweetest medicine, the kind that rots your teeth. Gets rid of all burden from your shoulders, from your bones. Never once will you ever be as free than when famished.
Have you ever starved?
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Spirals, staircases, Spoke.
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A masterpiece, really. His fingers are the brush, conjuring the nightly horizon into something unobtainable. The world is his canvas, and the people are the paint.
They smudge, they protest, they smear on the textile. They're nothing more than embroidery, they're nothing more than patterns used recreationally. They move in circles, and expect to find an exit.
They're sickening. How wonderful!
Encloaked by dread and dimness, the day is far still, the day where all confidence is drained from their body, aortic exhaustion.
The day is way too far, way, way, way too far, agonisingly too far, it's something Spoke is reminded of as bile scrapes his throat again.
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While you might be able to hide a couple of exploits from your teammate, hiding sickness is not as easy.
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With shakily carved out letters, it reads "Prince's Requiem", and she'll scoff playfully as she mocks a long dead girl, for trying to give it a cool name.
It's not a novel, or a biography, or anything fancy. Six pages it all it took, to pour your broken little heart out. It's irredeemable, just like you are. Isn't that what it means to be alive?
It was a bit outdated, written for a different funeral. But the previously slandered red paint came in handy, adding in any notes that you want them to know. To make it certain, that this is the right choice.
It's difficult to remember what exactly you said, but hopefully it will convey the message of "Yo, I'm really dead." And "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, Dear God, dear any God who will hear me, dear you, Vitalasy, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, forgive my hands for the sin that is my selfish mortality."
—Tomorrow, Zam will betray the Eclipse Federation. But today, she'll prevent that.
Vitalasubzam week day 2: sacrifice/save
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What is a betrayal, that is devoid of love?
Is every action bittersweet, entangled with choked admiration? Greedily taking all it needs, before it deattaches, like a leech?
Is there a thought shaking the fingers when they hold the hilt of the sword, that all of this will turn out better for the other?
Or is it just an act of revenge? Twisting the blade as many times as neccesary to make sure it hurts, sinking deeper between the ribs so that the pain is greater than anything else?
Is it just meant to be boring, no triumph speech, no silent confessions, just ripping the blade out of an already wounded body?
Zam wonders if any of them meant anything.
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After such a long season, Zam has some time to think about everything.
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"So you were taking pity on Bacon?"
Pity isn't correct, it was more. It was a soul-yearning misdeed, searching for clarification, Bacon only wanted to understand and Zam understood it.
Out of all, he could comprehend what Bacon was trying to symbolise, grasping at the strands Subz left for him. And sometimes, during the late nights, voice will sound so similiar, uncanny the way he tilts his head.
A hardcover book, handwritten with a firm hand. You think they'd be shaking, traitorously smudging the lines he intended as more of a curse. Burying it far, then placing it where a prince's spirit resides.
"It was support."
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Mapicc confronts Zam about the hearts he gave to Bacon.