@
PJade
(Here you go! Hope this helps in some way. c: Thanks for posting him.)
You love her, or so you say. Rasalas, even her name imbued with all the grace and light of the world. She is a beautiful, shining hummingbird, the gleaming jewel clotted with the mud of Plague.
She barely knows you exist.
You would walk by her garden in the nesting grounds some days, just to see her working. You loved her determination to bring her flowers sprouting from the diseased ground. One day, you caught her hissing and muttering to herself, near tears—the garden wasn’t working at all. You knew what to do then, if you wanted to win her heart.
You brought her seeds taken from the battlefield where you trained. Manaweed, Cindershroom, Tulips—you collected them all over months of fights. When you brought them to her, you were ready for her admiration. You played the conversation in your head: “How can I ever thank you? This is all so wonderful. Please come back tomorrow and help me.”
But when you gave them to her, she simply thanked you and turned back to her garden.
…What had you been thinking? Seeds were nothing. Anyone could get seeds. You would have to try harder. Not just harder—better.
You didn’t notice the way she smiled to herself now, humming as she worked. You didn’t notice her simple happiness, because it wasn’t really what you were looking for.
The next time, you brought her flowers. You had picked a bouquet of the prettiest, sweetest-smelling buds you could find. You presented them to her as she worked in her garden. It was early morning and most of the clan was still asleep.
“For me? That’s sweet of you. Put them over there, by my other clippings. Wait…did you pick them here? In Plague?”
You nodded, entranced by the hum of her voice. “Oh my! Where did you get them? Tell me all about it. This might be a breakthrough! Thank you so much.” She grinned.
It made your heart leap. You spent the day talking about flowers and plucking weeds with her. This was the beginning, it said.
The next time you saw her, she looked up from her work just long enough to nod. That was it. Bitter anger surged in your stomach, but you pushed it down. It was your mistake. A lady like her deserved more than flowers. You would have to impress her if you wanted her to really notice you.
The next time you brought a length of silk taken from a defeated enemy. It was beautiful, a generous length of sea-green fabric that matched her so well.
She smiled again, distracted from her garden.
“Oh, that’s so…nice! Thanks.”
You promised you would return. All the world of jewels and gold would be hers. Next time, you would bring more things, better things: rubies, cloth, all the treasure she would ever need, they would all be hers.
You chose not to see the discomfort in her eyes as you turned away. You chose to ignore the pinch in her smile. They weren’t really what you were looking for.
Then came the one who stole her heart from you. Was he her kind?
You were her kind, if she’d just pay attention. Him, silent and useless—what could he ever offer her?
And yet, she looked at him like she looked at her flowers. The way, you realized, she had never looked at you.
That thought stuck in you like a seed, sinking deeper and deeper into the fertile soil of your heart until it flowered. One simple realization was enough: it would be so easy to get revenge.
You know it’s wrong, but you don’t stop yourself. It won’t make her love you, but she might forget him. The justifications come easily. It’s your nature. She deserves it. He isn’t right for her. You’re better. She’ll come around. But an excuse is just another word for a lie.
It only takes one word. The runes ripple and shimmer on your skin.
Stop. Her eyes go blank and fogged. Memories take precision to modify and you do it with all the dexterity she doesn’t deserve. A little edit here, a cut there—lost memories, lost hours, him fading into the background of her heart as you’ve done with hers.
Pretty little sparrow, sing an empty song for me—and not for him.
You love her, or so you say. But you never loved her more than you loved yourself.
Oh, sing for me, and not for him.
What good is a bird in the wild when a bird in a cage will do just as well?
Code:
Code:
@
PJade
You love her, or so you say. Rasalas, even her name imbued with all the grace and light of the world. She is a beautiful, shining hummingbird, the gleaming jewel clotted with the mud of Plague.
She barely knows you exist.
You would walk by her garden in the nesting grounds some days, just to see her working. You loved her determination to bring her flowers sprouting from the diseased ground. One day, you caught her hissing and muttering to herself, near tears—the garden wasn’t working at all. You knew what to do then, if you wanted to win her heart.
You brought her seeds taken from the battlefield where you trained. Manaweed, Cindershroom, Tulips—you collected them all over months of fights. When you brought them to her, you were ready for her admiration. You played the conversation in your head: “How can I ever thank you? This is all so wonderful. Please come back tomorrow and help me.”
But when you gave them to her, she simply thanked you and turned back to her garden.
…What had you been thinking? Seeds were nothing. Anyone could get seeds. You would have to try harder. Not just harder—better.
You didn’t notice the way she smiled to herself now, humming as she worked. You didn’t notice her simple happiness, because it wasn’t really what you were looking for.
The next time, you brought her flowers. You had picked a bouquet of the prettiest, sweetest-smelling buds you could find. You presented them to her as she worked in her garden. It was early morning and most of the clan was still asleep.
“For me? That’s sweet of you. Put them over there, by my other clippings. Wait…did you pick them here? In Plague?”
You nodded, entranced by the hum of her voice. “Oh my! Where did you get them? Tell me all about it. This might be a breakthrough! Thank you so much.” She grinned.
It made your heart leap. You spent the day talking about flowers and plucking weeds with her. This was the beginning, it said.
The next time you saw her, she looked up from her work just long enough to nod. That was it. Bitter anger surged in your stomach, but you pushed it down. It was your mistake. A lady like her deserved more than flowers. You would have to impress her if you wanted her to really notice you.
The next time you brought a length of silk taken from a defeated enemy. It was beautiful, a generous length of sea-green fabric that matched her so well.
She smiled again, distracted from her garden.
“Oh, that’s so…nice! Thanks.”
You promised you would return. All the world of jewels and gold would be hers. Next time, you would bring more things, better things: rubies, cloth, all the treasure she would ever need, they would all be hers.
You chose not to see the discomfort in her eyes as you turned away. You chose to ignore the pinch in her smile. They weren’t really what you were looking for.
Then came the one who stole her heart from you. Was he her kind? [i]You[/i] were her kind, if she’d just pay attention. Him, silent and useless—what could he ever offer her?
And yet, she looked at him like she looked at her flowers. The way, you realized, she had never looked at you.
That thought stuck in you like a seed, sinking deeper and deeper into the fertile soil of your heart until it flowered. One simple realization was enough: it would be so easy to get revenge.
You know it’s wrong, but you don’t stop yourself. It won’t make her love you, but she might forget him. The justifications come easily. It’s your nature. She deserves it. He isn’t right for her. You’re better. She’ll come around. But an excuse is just another word for a lie.
It only takes one word. The runes ripple and shimmer on your skin. [i]Stop.[/i] Her eyes go blank and fogged. Memories take precision to modify and you do it with all the dexterity she doesn’t deserve. A little edit here, a cut there—lost memories, lost hours, him fading into the background of her heart as you’ve done with hers.
Pretty little sparrow, sing an empty song for me—and not for him.
You love her, or so you say. But you never loved her more than you loved yourself.
[i]Oh, sing for me, and not for him. [/i]
What good is a bird in the wild when a bird in a cage will do just as well?
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[center][size=1]Story by Oceanas (43678).[/size][/center]
[e]: Forgot a paragraph break. :')
