People forget in the face of her kind demeanor that when provoked, the priestess becomes the fiercest protector.
I don’t have the energy to work on the icon sorting. My illness is unbearable. I’ve had five to six panic attacks today, and that’s been a process of about a week and a half now. I’m at the end of my rope.
Just — in the future ask me if you mean to take icons from me. I promise I’m not mad but for the sake of my health, the icons made for me have special relevance so please just do this. I’m not an okay person. It is ridiculous that things upset me but please be aware that I’m really really sick and I’m getting sicker.
'—But this body is,
it’s ugly isn’t it?
It’s disgusting isn’t it?
Haha, I’m..I’m like an ironing board!
Someday, I’m going to be one giant crystal!
I’m sorry but I can’t tell anyone.
I can’t tell anyone.
That this body is…!
Just a pathetic Chosen.
You really think you can
live like a person after being
nothing more than a tool for salvation for so long?’
With one of her usual chipper smiles, Colette greets the nearest face, not a trace of a shadow in her eyes, in the benign curve of her lips. It’s wholly genuine — a sight to please, to encourage. There’s nothing wrong with it.
Sleepless nights were not foreign to the monarch; he was far more acquainted with the tossing of blankets, the lingering on the vestiges of rest while being denied it with every whisper that grazed his mind. He had learned to hide the signs of weariness, walked the halls like he would any morning, his smile widening as he crossed a familiar face.
"Good morning Colette," his voice was soft, still waking in its own right. "How are you this morning? Did you sleep well?"
She smiles seamlessly, her expression not once flickering from the ‘usual’. After all, she is the source of cheer to many, after all. It’s a role she painfully falls into no matter how hard she tries to express herself more. It’s a steep path she’ll undoubtedly walk for ages but..nightmares of the events of two years ago don’t help. They’ll never go away. Those scars, those hideous scars and the body that housed so many things — the world included.
"Oh, hi, Richard! Morning! I’m great! I slept just fine, hehe. How about you?" He seemed a bit tired, but other than that, she wasn’t going to comment.
With one of her usual chipper smiles, Colette greets the nearest face, not a trace of a shadow in her eyes, in the benign curve of her lips. It’s wholly genuine — a sight to please, to encourage. There’s nothing wrong with it. No nightmares. No burdens forced upon her since childhood. No sacrifice, no ultimate loss of life, no scarring where she kept them beneath both skin and dress. No poisonous ways of thinking that could not be rid of in two years but decades —not scars like these. No dreams of crystallized skin, spiritual death on a Tower, Seals that sent her toppling a few steps after leaving them — a white, writhing mess of fever and sweat.
"—Good morning! Can I help you?”