when I first saw you, I knew that you had a flame in your heart (closed)
Who: Belzac, thenobledie
When: March 6th
Where: the Church
Format: prose
What: Shirley finds Belzac('s shadow). Heartbreak ensues.
Warnings: Hideous prose. lmao, no. n/a
She had known when the excavation crew opened the vault, when they found lost treasures and buried memories. His axe among the broken glass and toys. (It's a fitting, if accidental, memorial to him.) Something had seized Shirley, then: fear and regret, the guilt of killing him and not saving his soul years later. Perhaps she should have tried harder to help, but of all her fallen comrades, he was - is - the hardest for her to face.
But after careful avoidance, a battle as the White Silver Dragoon had reignited something in her. It wasn't love; it wasn't courage; it wasn't anything one could expect as the living. Nostalgia, perhaps. Duty, though, for certain: to heal, to protect, to save. This had been her life once, and it must be again.
(So Shirley tells herself.)
The building is quiet, and the heels of her boots - she is growing accustomed to Anatole's gift, troublesome as she finds it some days - echo. An announcement is probably best, though. He is a warrior, after all, and none take kindly to surprises.
"How long has it been?"
(If he were someone else, she wouldn't think she must do this. She wouldn't have hidden. She wouldn't use excuses. The love is startling; and her heart clenches tightly in her chest - when did I become so foolish?)
When: March 6th
Where: the Church
Format: prose
What: Shirley finds Belzac('s shadow). Heartbreak ensues.
Warnings: Hideous prose. lmao, no. n/a
She had known when the excavation crew opened the vault, when they found lost treasures and buried memories. His axe among the broken glass and toys. (It's a fitting, if accidental, memorial to him.) Something had seized Shirley, then: fear and regret, the guilt of killing him and not saving his soul years later. Perhaps she should have tried harder to help, but of all her fallen comrades, he was - is - the hardest for her to face.
But after careful avoidance, a battle as the White Silver Dragoon had reignited something in her. It wasn't love; it wasn't courage; it wasn't anything one could expect as the living. Nostalgia, perhaps. Duty, though, for certain: to heal, to protect, to save. This had been her life once, and it must be again.
(So Shirley tells herself.)
The building is quiet, and the heels of her boots - she is growing accustomed to Anatole's gift, troublesome as she finds it some days - echo. An announcement is probably best, though. He is a warrior, after all, and none take kindly to surprises.
"How long has it been?"
(If he were someone else, she wouldn't think she must do this. She wouldn't have hidden. She wouldn't use excuses. The love is startling; and her heart clenches tightly in her chest - when did I become so foolish?)