Category: writing (page 1 of 1)

clubs: writing from someone close to me
three: promises, secrets
1 on the die: this bit of your love does not become history

[intercepted before it could escape the veil, clutched in thin fingers and then lost.]

(content warnings for depictions of very young children being very ill and near-death.)

diamonds: writing between myself and someone else
queen: special occasions
2 on the die: this writing is public

Steady As It Goes,

It is high solstice day. I have no illusions that I may see you today, but it is the first high solstice day since we last saw each other. Moreover, it is the first solstice day where all our suns are in solstice since the world ended, and so I am using my thirty hours of constant daylight wisely.

It has been a long time, my friend. I am sure you do not miss me, but I find absence makes the heart grow fonder. I hope you are well.

In this town they still sing for the sun’s rise. Joyful tunes, they are, and the dance steps moreso. I find myself with two left feet but dragged into a dance more often than not. (Forgive an old lady their shaky hand, I am interrupted often by the young folk seeking I join them, and I have never been able to resist the joy you can only find in the smiles of the young.) You would be surprised how few of these people know the steps to their own dances, but what they lack in technique they make up for in enthusiasm.

There was a celebration much like this for the day of my people’s liberation. Complete with the dancing and the rejoicing under a day of sun. I do wonder if you and I might have crossed paths at one such celebration, so very long ago, but there would be no way to tell now. It is likely, given how similar our beacons are in nature; but even that is a gross oversimplification, and besides: there is no changing the past. If there were, perhaps much now would be different. I can only wonder

Forgive me, again. I was drawn away for another dance, and have forgotten how that sentence was meant to end. For now I think I will set down this pen and figure out how to get this message to you once the sun has set again. 

If It Comes, It Will Come.

Yours in sun and shadow,
sable

hearts: writing between myself and my lover
jack: routine
6 on the die: you are assured of your privacy

[colors, reclaimed; candles left burning, and their meanings.]

diamonds: writing between me and someone else
five: firsts and lasts
2 on the die: this writing is public.

[words carried across the sea, to someone who would never hear them.]

(content warning for death and allusions to graphic violence)

I died today.

At least, I think I did. I cannot be altogether sure, as I have never died. This was my first time, if such a thing exists.

It was so instantaneous I cannot even begin to explain how it happened. I was separated from my travelling companions of the moment and lost in the darkness of the woods. I was unsure if I should find them first or if I should try and find my way out, but the choice was taken away from me when I heard a fearsome sound behind me— something so horrible I cannot even begin to name it. I tried to run but it was over so suddenly I do not think I made it that far at all, and I thought that was it. That it was all over.

And then I woke up, in the forest, missing much of what I had been carrying apart from my staff, in slowly ebbing pain. I sat up and everything hurt, but the wounds that should have killed me had not.

But they did. I know they did. I cannot describe what I saw during those minutes I was fallen but I know that I was so close to death I could nearly feel Her kiss. But I didn’t. I came back, in pain, and aching with the loss of that peace.

Is that what you feel now that you are dead, Mazarine?

I hope so. I am very sorry to have lost it but I believe you deserve it.

clubs: writing from someone close to me
jack: routine
4 on the die: this is somewhat safe (speaking in coded phrases, touching lightly).

[an except from a letter written by a companion of the unfavored, late in their exile.]

(content warning for descriptions of grieving practices, though the writer does not know that’s what they are.)

diamonds: writing between myself and someone else
four: self-discovery, confessions
4 on the die: this is somewhat safe (speaking in coded phrases, touching lightly).

[left at the temple of sama, with their followers who have chosen vows of silence.]

spades: something personal
nine: anger, fear
3 on the die: this writing is public.

[a dream unknowingly shared with countless others, who awoke with similar symptoms sable describes in their account. entry penned early in their flight across the inlands.]

(content warning here for mentions of body horror, strangulation, death or the lack thereof, and emetophobia.)

spades: something personal
king: meaning, magic, love
2 on the die: this writing is public

[a plea, to become a prayer for those seeking a balm to agony.]

i sit amongst the trees and listen to them whisper their words to me.

the air is cold, and it smells of rain. the new gods walk this world, but here i am hidden from them. here, it is cold.

the sparks don’t catch flame any longer. i wish they would. 

i sit under a tree with red falling leaves and watch the world end. i wonder why i have to watch it alone. it’s peaceful and lonely. i don’t know if i would take the loneliness for the peace, or if i would rather there be a community here to keep me warm.

the sky is shattered into oranges and reds and colors i cannot even see. i don’t know why anyone is bothering to protect this place anymore. i don’t understand why anyone would want to destroy it. isn’t it enough overrun as it is? isn’t this enough?

none of this matters any longer, not without the sun in the sky and the warmth of our fires. not with these chains binding us to a ravaged world. i beg whoever may be listening now to spare us this suffering. you cannot break our chains— i don’t think anyone alive could, now— but at least let us rest.

clubs: writing from someone close to me
two: family
3 on the die: this writing is public.

hearts: writing between myself and my lover
six: separation, longing
4 on the die: this is somewhat safe (speaking in coded phrases, touching lightly)

[following is a letter penned by sable, the unfavored, to the entity known familiarly as aphiel. letter penned unknown date, never sent.]