Post by Eislyn on Aug 5, 2017 16:26:35 GMT -8
A Memory exists to augment survival.
A Memory exists to inform.
A Memory exists to reflect.
...
This Memory exists to torment.
A Memory exists to inform.
A Memory exists to reflect.
...
This Memory exists to torment.
Turbulent waves lashed at the sprawled body of a young woman. Her head lay bowed as if in shame, corrupted beneath the tangled disarray of dark locks that spewed from her crown like thick, black ink.
A seraphic face shone like a pearl in the midst of her hair, plush cheeks like rosebuds in the cold, her eyes closed with lashes that combed the pale porcelain of her skin.
Her breathing was sullen and hushed, the chill of it like a winter's breath rolling in a bitter wind.
Dried tears, once hot, now lay streaked and dying against her face; a reminder to serve of chaotic pasts and a tragic present.
Surrounding her, she knew, were the broken bodies of shipmen who lay like discarded toys around her. Some were drowned in the lapping water that crashed through large, wooden-toothed holes in the hull. Others were encompassed by their own blood from punctured bodies, broken from shattered plywood and sharp articles thrown about in the hapless and horrifying collision.
The ghastly scene was remiss to her as she lay in huddled solitude, devastation eating at her not from the mangled bodies, nor the unfortunate shipwreck. No, she sobbed for loss of self, for purpose, for redemption. Fate, it seemed, would tease her ability to find escape from past deeds, from a past that felt long ago.
"Memory..." she said, her voice mummed, yet soft like a psalm, spoken like an injured, befuddled bird. "Mnemora. I can remember that voice, His voice, naming me in such irony. How it still haunts me... seeks to destroy me. I cannot escape it. Even now."
Eyes cracked beneath the misty fog that claimed them, spawning fresh tears to roll onto her cold face. "And yet I miss him, my father. One who never loved. One who refused to love. He, who couldn't love me."
Hunger growled from deep within her like an abhorrent beast, and she hugged herself tightly but refused to seek safety. Previous companions, now fellow survivors, had fled and left her as she denied attempts at retrieval. Guilt consumed her just as the memories did, just as the hunger did.
Logic found no clutch to hold, and she devoured herself with regrets.
"Memory... perhaps it is my own memory that will now destroy me." Her eyes opened and gazed into the maw of the dank ship, seeing past the bodies, past the destruction. She saw her mother, a dead lover, a war of coverns, a flurry of winged elves. She saw her father laid to rest in a field of dappled-eyed poppies, long since having breathed his last as his frozen face lay in the softest expression she'd ever known.
A seraphic face shone like a pearl in the midst of her hair, plush cheeks like rosebuds in the cold, her eyes closed with lashes that combed the pale porcelain of her skin.
Her breathing was sullen and hushed, the chill of it like a winter's breath rolling in a bitter wind.
Dried tears, once hot, now lay streaked and dying against her face; a reminder to serve of chaotic pasts and a tragic present.
Surrounding her, she knew, were the broken bodies of shipmen who lay like discarded toys around her. Some were drowned in the lapping water that crashed through large, wooden-toothed holes in the hull. Others were encompassed by their own blood from punctured bodies, broken from shattered plywood and sharp articles thrown about in the hapless and horrifying collision.
The ghastly scene was remiss to her as she lay in huddled solitude, devastation eating at her not from the mangled bodies, nor the unfortunate shipwreck. No, she sobbed for loss of self, for purpose, for redemption. Fate, it seemed, would tease her ability to find escape from past deeds, from a past that felt long ago.
"Memory..." she said, her voice mummed, yet soft like a psalm, spoken like an injured, befuddled bird. "Mnemora. I can remember that voice, His voice, naming me in such irony. How it still haunts me... seeks to destroy me. I cannot escape it. Even now."
Eyes cracked beneath the misty fog that claimed them, spawning fresh tears to roll onto her cold face. "And yet I miss him, my father. One who never loved. One who refused to love. He, who couldn't love me."
Hunger growled from deep within her like an abhorrent beast, and she hugged herself tightly but refused to seek safety. Previous companions, now fellow survivors, had fled and left her as she denied attempts at retrieval. Guilt consumed her just as the memories did, just as the hunger did.
Logic found no clutch to hold, and she devoured herself with regrets.
"Memory... perhaps it is my own memory that will now destroy me." Her eyes opened and gazed into the maw of the dank ship, seeing past the bodies, past the destruction. She saw her mother, a dead lover, a war of coverns, a flurry of winged elves. She saw her father laid to rest in a field of dappled-eyed poppies, long since having breathed his last as his frozen face lay in the softest expression she'd ever known.
