.
.
.
It was cold. However, it wasn’t cold in the physical way. The substance of chill had started to leaked further into the porous material of her ripened heart. It was breaking, pulling out the seams that held it flush with the rest of its body.
She was chilled this afternoon, her skin blossoming with bumps, her hairs rising in protest to the shivers that crept across her frigid flesh. Her teeth had started to chattered, threatening to hack away at the enamel that remained. She had clenched her teeth to avoid injury and now she was holding her arms closer to her mid-section, hoping for warmth to prevail and win the battle with the cold.
Her hair was beguiled into attaching itself to the little beads of sweat that had formulated along her hair line. They ran down her neck, staining her skin with their salty composition.
She started to hear music as she walked the endless expanse of pathways, rounding corners that didn’t seem there and dodging past obstacles that posed themselves strewn about the premises she trampled by.
The music was explicit, obscene as it traveled through one ear and dislodged its melancholy tune out the other. It caused her to cry, something she seldom did. Up until now, she had attempted with all the strength available to her to muster to not break the dam that held back the storm raging on inside of her.
Today was different. Today portrayed no delusions, for everything was depicted with logic, yet without. There was no reasonable understanding behind death. The term itself hindered the possible assumptions at attaining the full grasp on the word.
At this particular moment in time, Lenz was caught in a void of despair, contempt, enragement and lust. She craved vengeance; however, she wasn’t seeking it out this very second. She was absorbed in her mind, plastered to the walls by the adhesive of which was her soul. It had been corrupted by the foul presence of hostility and vague dismemberment.
She, herself, felt dismembered, eternally, having been thrown into a crypt and left to die without any last words longing to expel themselves from her chapped and dying lips.
She was fading now, holding onto the last strands of thread that compacted all her sanity within the small fibrous bands of material of which it had been crafted from.
She was losing it, be it hope, faith, love, character, even her soul was being condemned to the affiliations of exploitation. She was drained from her original disposition. That calm, collected, relatively friendly and brave stature she had held her head high at for all this long had vanished. It had been depleted and deprived from by the starving individual of Dira herself.
She was manipulated, held up by strings of the motivation desires of everyone surrounding her. Finally, today she had been cut. She no longer stood by passively and watched her body being tormented by insults and actions that could span her misery for years to come.
She, today, had her mind back. She could do what she pleased and would do what she pleased had she any determination. As of right now, she felt no intention of doing anything besides the act of wandering in an aimless fashion through the streets of the city that had stolen her heart, soul and sanity.
Raising her head so that her eyes scoured the sky for any signs of life, she let out a sigh, a breath that simply screamed in protest for the agony she had been put through. She screamed her anger, the words incomprehensive, yet without leniency to what was being said.
She screamed until her lungs were charred from the voice her vocal chords were bestowing upon them. She ached after this, wallowing in her own vacancy. She felt forever bound by the rusted chains of loss and torment. She would be forever enslaved to these feelings no matter how hard she attempted to break free and run away. These chains would not decay entirely.
She hadn’t slept since the child’s passing. Instead, her grief had displayed alternative ways to cope by leading her throughout the city on a whim of helpfulness. It was of no use, the aid no longer progressing, the result was as futile to achieve as the initial attempt.
.
.
2nd of Summer, 514 AV
It was cold. However, it wasn’t cold in the physical way. The substance of chill had started to leaked further into the porous material of her ripened heart. It was breaking, pulling out the seams that held it flush with the rest of its body.
She was chilled this afternoon, her skin blossoming with bumps, her hairs rising in protest to the shivers that crept across her frigid flesh. Her teeth had started to chattered, threatening to hack away at the enamel that remained. She had clenched her teeth to avoid injury and now she was holding her arms closer to her mid-section, hoping for warmth to prevail and win the battle with the cold.
Her hair was beguiled into attaching itself to the little beads of sweat that had formulated along her hair line. They ran down her neck, staining her skin with their salty composition.
She started to hear music as she walked the endless expanse of pathways, rounding corners that didn’t seem there and dodging past obstacles that posed themselves strewn about the premises she trampled by.
The music was explicit, obscene as it traveled through one ear and dislodged its melancholy tune out the other. It caused her to cry, something she seldom did. Up until now, she had attempted with all the strength available to her to muster to not break the dam that held back the storm raging on inside of her.
Today was different. Today portrayed no delusions, for everything was depicted with logic, yet without. There was no reasonable understanding behind death. The term itself hindered the possible assumptions at attaining the full grasp on the word.
At this particular moment in time, Lenz was caught in a void of despair, contempt, enragement and lust. She craved vengeance; however, she wasn’t seeking it out this very second. She was absorbed in her mind, plastered to the walls by the adhesive of which was her soul. It had been corrupted by the foul presence of hostility and vague dismemberment.
She, herself, felt dismembered, eternally, having been thrown into a crypt and left to die without any last words longing to expel themselves from her chapped and dying lips.
She was fading now, holding onto the last strands of thread that compacted all her sanity within the small fibrous bands of material of which it had been crafted from.
She was losing it, be it hope, faith, love, character, even her soul was being condemned to the affiliations of exploitation. She was drained from her original disposition. That calm, collected, relatively friendly and brave stature she had held her head high at for all this long had vanished. It had been depleted and deprived from by the starving individual of Dira herself.
She was manipulated, held up by strings of the motivation desires of everyone surrounding her. Finally, today she had been cut. She no longer stood by passively and watched her body being tormented by insults and actions that could span her misery for years to come.
She, today, had her mind back. She could do what she pleased and would do what she pleased had she any determination. As of right now, she felt no intention of doing anything besides the act of wandering in an aimless fashion through the streets of the city that had stolen her heart, soul and sanity.
Raising her head so that her eyes scoured the sky for any signs of life, she let out a sigh, a breath that simply screamed in protest for the agony she had been put through. She screamed her anger, the words incomprehensive, yet without leniency to what was being said.
She screamed until her lungs were charred from the voice her vocal chords were bestowing upon them. She ached after this, wallowing in her own vacancy. She felt forever bound by the rusted chains of loss and torment. She would be forever enslaved to these feelings no matter how hard she attempted to break free and run away. These chains would not decay entirely.
She hadn’t slept since the child’s passing. Instead, her grief had displayed alternative ways to cope by leading her throughout the city on a whim of helpfulness. It was of no use, the aid no longer progressing, the result was as futile to achieve as the initial attempt.