Post by Meduzia on Mar 4, 2014 17:58:15 GMT 1
For 30 Days of SA ]]
we’ll be given the world in the right time
but we made our own and left it empty
this will be ours
’cause we’re the concept
and we’re the flawed
and we’re the answer
Chelsea Wolfe - The Waves Have Come
There are stars dancing behind her eyelids when she closes them and when she exhales, it feels as though her bones are collapsing on her. The thought it ridiculous, because Teter's body is too small to press such weight and besides, it is pressing against her spine, hurting, suffocating, in ways it should not suffocate it. And so here she is, almost unable to move, but she has to. To move, and not to think about things that would make her better. Nothing would make her better, she tells herself, but it's not true.
Her cure is not in the Academy, and yet she cannot leave.
Academy is the prison of Kegan on its own, but it's far less hostile than the Lone Isles. There are people who know, there are people who don't. Bauman doesn't know, Night girl doesn't know. Nobody knows. Academy is almost as bad; kids are stupid and kids are cruel, though with her age, there are only few who are not kids. Then again, there are kids her age, students who think they know better. Teter feels like crushing people sometimes, only crushing people leads to punishment. There were times when that was not an issue. But well, this is twenty-first century. Things are different, she supposes.
Her eyebrows flutter open, only shortly, before she forces her body to push up and she disconnects from the table in the library she was more or less pasted to. Her hand dipped in ink and it's sticking - it's making a black web on the miniature indents of her skin and she thinks she might cry. It's different; her skin feels different, not as smooth as it used to be not as liquid - now it looks like common skin. Porcelain, common skin. With a huff, she sits in her chair and props herself up on the elbow.
She's tired. She wants to sleep.
Yet, she cannot find herself dozing off, so she keeps reading the titles of the books around her, over and over, in way one might want to count sheep - trying to fall asleep, slowly, but is kept awake but his own medicine. Nothing works for her and even though her eyes are heavy and she is tired, Teter is merely not sleepy.
we’ll be given the world in the right time
but we made our own and left it empty
this will be ours
’cause we’re the concept
and we’re the flawed
and we’re the answer
Chelsea Wolfe - The Waves Have Come
There are stars dancing behind her eyelids when she closes them and when she exhales, it feels as though her bones are collapsing on her. The thought it ridiculous, because Teter's body is too small to press such weight and besides, it is pressing against her spine, hurting, suffocating, in ways it should not suffocate it. And so here she is, almost unable to move, but she has to. To move, and not to think about things that would make her better. Nothing would make her better, she tells herself, but it's not true.
Her cure is not in the Academy, and yet she cannot leave.
Academy is the prison of Kegan on its own, but it's far less hostile than the Lone Isles. There are people who know, there are people who don't. Bauman doesn't know, Night girl doesn't know. Nobody knows. Academy is almost as bad; kids are stupid and kids are cruel, though with her age, there are only few who are not kids. Then again, there are kids her age, students who think they know better. Teter feels like crushing people sometimes, only crushing people leads to punishment. There were times when that was not an issue. But well, this is twenty-first century. Things are different, she supposes.
Her eyebrows flutter open, only shortly, before she forces her body to push up and she disconnects from the table in the library she was more or less pasted to. Her hand dipped in ink and it's sticking - it's making a black web on the miniature indents of her skin and she thinks she might cry. It's different; her skin feels different, not as smooth as it used to be not as liquid - now it looks like common skin. Porcelain, common skin. With a huff, she sits in her chair and props herself up on the elbow.
She's tired. She wants to sleep.
Yet, she cannot find herself dozing off, so she keeps reading the titles of the books around her, over and over, in way one might want to count sheep - trying to fall asleep, slowly, but is kept awake but his own medicine. Nothing works for her and even though her eyes are heavy and she is tired, Teter is merely not sleepy.
