impression {nikolai}

[Talia Avedon]

[nospaces]

[attr="class","Lost"]

[break]

Nikolai Hugh-Sokolov

600 Words

Music

see notes below

[break][break]

Only just one moment of sleep [break]







but you dream of some epiphany

[break][break]



Impression (noun): 

[break][break]


1: the effect produced by impressing: such as 

[break][break]

a: an especially marked and often favorable influence or effect on feeling, sense, or mind 

[break][break]

2: an often indistinct or imprecise notion or remembrance 

[break][break]

3 

[break][break]

a: a telling image impressed on the senses or the mind [break]

b: an effect of alteration or improvement[break]
c: a characteristic, trait, or feature resulting from some influence [break][break]


4: an imitation or representation of key features in an artistic or theatrical medium

[break][break]

5: (-ism): a style or movement in painting originating in France in the 1860s, characterized by a concern with depicting the visual impression of the moment, especially in terms of the shifting effect of light and color. [break]
a literary or artistic style that seeks to capture a feeling or experience rather than to achieve accurate depiction.

---

[break][break]

Talia sat in the sunroom with her head tilted towards the light. It shouldn't be called a sunroom at all at this time of night. The sun had long since set and she still could feel the water in her lungs. She was cold all over. 

[break][break]



She didn't know why she had come back with Nikolai. But he had held out a hand, and she accepted. He held out a hand and she couldn't say no. He held out a hand and she desperately wanted to be wanted. 

[break][break]



Her party dress was torn and wet. He had offered her one of his shirts. He said she could take whatever she liked. She refused. She had barely even touched the m. She ran her hands over the silk and it made her feel sick. Even looking at the shirts made her stomach turn. She knew it wasn't the saltwater. It was something else, something deep inside her that was horrified at the idea of sliding into something that was so clearly his like they might ever share anything. What would she do then? Keep it? Have something to remember what she only wanted to forget? Give it back? It was an impossibility.



[break][break]

He had left an impression on her life and an impression on her skin. She could look down and see the lines where he had dug his nails into her wrists, where he had dragged out out of the water. She could feel death lingering by her. It had come too close. It was still hungry.



[break][break]

She didn't pretend to understand everything she'd heard, but it scared her. Impressions were imprecise at best, but it didn't really matter here. There were some things she didn't need to know for sure to understand. There were some politics that never ever changed. Mortals had sort lives and fae had long memories, but the same things happened over and over again anyway. She would not become her mother. It was an unkindness just to consider it.



[break][break]

She was wearing a shirt that must have been his mother's. There were roses on the cuffs and gold thread running across it like blood vessels. She ran her fingers over the thread again and again. Had some mortal made this? It seemed like it must be magic, but maybe she was just starved of wonder.



[break][break]

She had been given her full of it now. It was a mercurial hope at best, unpredictable and capricious. She was choking on it. She was drowning in it. She had wondered too much and wandered too far, and now she was suffering the consequences. If she knew what was good for her, she would run.



[break][break]

She turned away from the dwindling sunlight instead. She pushed open the door and stared at the stairway she had been avoiding. Every step she took was silent. Not even mortals left footprints on marble. It was cold here too, cold in her bones and cold in the floor. The storm from earlier had not subsided, but now it was less looming and more lurking. She was a fool if she thought it had passed. She had lit a match, and she would watch it burn.


[break][break]


She had never asked for any of this, but she had stayed. That implicated her in any argument that followed, any epiphany derived. Anything she did from here, even if it seemed intrinsic or, alternatively, impossible, was her choice. No one was making her stay. She was still here. She was braving the storm.


[break][break]
Bold words for a girl who had started all this on one first impression. 







[break][break]

[newclass=.Lost]opacity:0;transition:all linear .5s;-webkit-transition:all linear .5s[/newclass][newclass=.Lost:hover]opacity:95%;transition:all linear .5s;-webkit-transition:all linear .5s;background-color:#b2bbc5[/newclass]

[Nikolai Hugh-Sokolov]

    Nikolai was not in the right state to be smoking. When he was distraught, he always took it too far. He’d left Talia in her sunroom, a bundle of clothing in her arms. What she’d chosen to do with it, he didn’t know. He hadn’t realized how exhausted he’d been until his entourage had reached the palace, eerily silent. No one had known how to react to what had happened on the boat, and all had made their way back to the Court in a mood similar to that of a funeral march. Had Nikolai truly put all of these people at risk by his words to the Princess? She’d certainly put her people’s peace at risk. His father would not be happy once he was made aware of what had happened. But it was late, and that would have to wait until the morning.

    No matter how much he thought about it, he still couldn’t fathom why she’d done it. He let out a puff of smoke and leaned against the railing that lined the roof. She couldn’t have been jealous, could she? Nikolai shook his head and took another drag, looking up as the smoke swirled before the stars. He felt like he’d messed up. All of the effort he’d put in to be a better person, gone. It wasn’t like he’d relapsed into his old habits, but just the mention of his past sent him back to feeling guilty. He scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. He should probably go to bed. He was still wearing the clothes he’d dove into the water in, but the chill had long ago stopped bothering him.

    But Talia. Nikolai needed to talk to her. He couldn’t just leave her thinking that he’d lied about being better. He took another drag and held it, exhaling only once his lungs began to burn. In the back of his mind, there was that sneaky voice, the voice that told him he was crazy for becoming so entranced with a girl he’d seen once at a revel. Crazy for changing his ways for her. He knew she’d overheard what Jin-hwa had said about their relationship. And while Jin-hwa was right, she was also very wrong. Treating her like she was a child was not pleasing to her. So Nikolai had treated her like she was a grown-up. Was it wrong? Nikolai would admit that it was. But it was also wrong for Jin-hwa to throw it in his face instead of just telling him that he’d hurt her. If hurt was even what she was feeling. He dropped the cigarette and put it out beneath his foot. He couldn’t believe his life had become such a mess all because of a stupid impression.

TAGS: Talia Avedon

★fai

I'll draw stars around your scars.

[Talia Avedon]

[nospaces]

[attr="class","Lost"]

[break]

Nikolai Hugh-Sokolov

713 Words

Music

see notes below

[break][break]

Only just one moment of sleep [break]







but you dream of some epiphany

[break][break]



Impression (noun): 

[break][break]


1: the effect produced by impressing: such as 

[break][break]

a: an especially marked and often favorable influence or effect on feeling, sense, or mind 

[break][break]

2: an often indistinct or imprecise notion or remembrance 

[break][break]

3 

[break][break]

a: a telling image impressed on the senses or the mind [break]

b: an effect of alteration or improvement[break]
c: a characteristic, trait, or feature resulting from some influence [break][break]


4: an imitation or representation of key features in an artistic or theatrical medium

[break][break]

5: (-ism): a style or movement in painting originating in France in the 1860s, characterized by a concern with depicting the visual impression of the moment, especially in terms of the shifting effect of light and color. [break]
a literary or artistic style that seeks to capture a feeling or experience rather than to achieve accurate depiction.

---

[break][break]

Talia was hoping to get some sort of sign that the other revelers were still present, but she only got well-meaning stares as she faced the stairwell. None of them were as rattled as she was, of course, but Nikolai was gone. Not that this stopped the festivities, but he was usually leading them. Now the house was quieter, no shrieks of glee, just murmurs and whispers. She didn't feel any more comfortable. Before had been reckless. Now it just felt sinister.


[break][break]


They had seen him hold her. They had seen him walk her inside and leave her in the sunroom. Doubtless they were thinking she was just one other prize, something to be squabbled over like a toy. She wasn't a person to that Undersea princess. She didn't know if she was a person to Nikolai either, or if she was something more like oil on canvas or a brilliant statue, a piece of art, something to be treasured but not wanted. 


[break][break]


She moved up the stairs but it didn't feel like moving forwards. It didn't feel like an ascension of any kind. It felt like a warning. It felt like a storm was waiting to start.
 

[break][break]


She moved to sit beside him. She could smell the cigarette smoke. She was silently grateful for the long sleeves. Burns on your arms hurt more than hands. She knew it from experience. 



[break][break]


The smoke should have scared her off, but it was too easy to get lost in the haze. If the fae could fall ill, she would from all the secondhand smoke she had inhaled. There was no proper cigarettes in faerie. They couldn't handle metals. What they smoked instead-- it wasn't like tobacco. It was more mind altering. Heavier. She didn't really know what. But she could tell the difference. Cigarettes burned more. Her mother had smoked them in the beginning. Talia had hoped that when she ran out she would go to the mortal world and take Talia with her, but no such luck. Just burns on her arms as her reward for hope. 



[break][break]


Part of her still longed to go back to her home with her siblings. Her father was not kind, but he was rarely around long enough to be cruel. Her siblings were her first confidants, and for a long time, her only friends. She wished she could bring Nikolai with her, show him their tea and their sunflower seeds and the stream that she shoved her brother in when she was young. 


[break][break]


She couldn't go back, not now. It would be like trying to undo a burn or retract a vow. It would be like trying to put paste back into a jar. It wouldn't work. She had seen him, hair glinting in the sun. She had looked into his eyes. She had fine art and fine clothes. She had been exposed to the world and she could not unlearn or unsee it. She wasn't going to forget this. She thought of the tea they made in the summer. Would it still taste as sweet, like childhood and hope? Or would it have turned bitter with age? She wondered if the fields that had been her refuge had wilted, if the loft that had been her bedroom had collapsed in on itself. She wanted to imagine that everything could stay the same, but she wasn't the same. Was she okay with aging while everything else froze in time? 


[break][break]


She didn't know how to say this to him. The smoke in the air scared her. It was heady and the sun was setting, and somewhere in the mist she could smell turned earth and wild berries, but it didn't smell safe anymore, just dull. It didn't feel like home, or a heartbreak. It felt like someplace she couldn't stay. It was bittersweet.


[break][break]


"Should I go?" she wondered aloud. Was she asking herself? She was standing in a sun-speckled field in her mind, holding flowers and watching the wind blow past. She was smelling things grow and listening to the stream before her. She could taste strawberry. And she didn't know if she was asking if she should leave this field or if she should leave him on this roof. All she knew was that she couldn't have both. 





[break][break]

[newclass=.Lost]opacity:0;transition:all linear .5s;-webkit-transition:all linear .5s[/newclass][newclass=.Lost:hover]opacity:95%;transition:all linear .5s;-webkit-transition:all linear .5s;background-color:#b2bbc5[/newclass]

[Nikolai Hugh-Sokolov]

    Nikolai didn’t hear her come up. All he heard was the whisper of silk, and the movement of the fabric caught his eye. He looked behind him, and there she was, alive and whole, after that disaster of a night. The roses on the cuffs brought color to her washed-out face. It added warmth, but it didn’t stop him from noticing the blue tinge to her lips, and the way her shoulders hunched in on themselves, as if hiding from the cold. She shouldn’t have come out here. She needed to be in the warmth. He turned to face her, arms resting on the railing. “Not necessarily,” he responded. His voice was hoarse from the smoke. Or maybe it was from emotion. He couldn’t find it in himself to decide.

    “You shouldn’t be out here in the cold, but I cannot tell you where you may and may not go.” Why was he being so formal? So distant? He felt distant. As if there were a curtain between them, muddling his words so she could not hear them right, turning his features into a blur. It could just be the smoke. The curtain was the haze it left on his mind, dulling the emotions he felt. Or maybe the curtain was just a memory. A memory of the water’s surface, rippling and murky. Of Nikolai’s own face staring back at him in horror. He squeezed his eyes shut and grimaced, trying to wrench the thought from his mind. It left the forefront but lingered in the corners.

    This night had been such a wake-up call. It terrified him, how out of touch he’d been. Jin-hwa had been right in calling him reckless. He had been reckless. And careless. And thoughtless. Was he even fit to rule the East Court? He’d trained his whole life for a moment like tonight, a moment to be a leader. And he’d botched it. How could he have been so brash? How could he have put the lives of those under his father’s rule at risk? Nikolai hated himself for the way he’d acted. The moment something stressful happened, would he always lose composure like that? He hoped that he wouldn’t. In hindsight, he knew exactly what he should’ve said, exactly how he should have acted. But hindsight would never fix the issue he’d actually created.

    He pushed off from the railing, taking a step so he stood in front of Talia. “I owe you an apology.” There he went again, talking to her as if she wasn’t the sole catalyst for all the changes he’d made to his life. “I acted without thought tonight. I was entirely unaware that the Princess would do such a thing to you, and in being unaware, I put your life in danger. For that I am truly sorry.” What a terrible apology. It was the kind of apology one gave in a speech, or presented before a council. It was the apology of a leader who had wronged one of his subjects, not of a boy who felt so deeply for the girl he was apologizing to. Nikolai was so tired. It was like his mind couldn’t decide which mask needed to be put on anymore. How did it not realize that he wasn’t supposed to wear a mask with Talia? He sat down on the bench next to her. “Are you okay?”

TAGS: Talia Avedon

★fai

I'll draw stars around your scars.

[Talia Avedon]

[nospaces]

[attr="class","Lost"]

[break]

Nikolai Hugh-Sokolov

545 Words

Music

see notes below

[break][break]

Only just one moment of sleep [break]







but you dream of some epiphany

[break][break]



Impression (noun): 

[break][break]


1: the effect produced by impressing: such as 

[break][break]

a: an especially marked and often favorable influence or effect on feeling, sense, or mind 

[break][break]

2: an often indistinct or imprecise notion or remembrance 

[break][break]

3 

[break][break]

a: a telling image impressed on the senses or the mind [break]

b: an effect of alteration or improvement[break]
c: a characteristic, trait, or feature resulting from some influence [break][break]


4: an imitation or representation of key features in an artistic or theatrical medium

[break][break]

5: (-ism): a style or movement in painting originating in France in the 1860s, characterized by a concern with depicting the visual impression of the moment, especially in terms of the shifting effect of light and color. [break]
a literary or artistic style that seeks to capture a feeling or experience rather than to achieve accurate depiction.

---

[break][break]

Talia had to laugh at the irony. She had been in the cold all day. Dry clothes couldn't wring the water out of her bones and a warm smile couldn't disperse the funeral chill that followed her. And now he was giving her a cold shoulder and telling her to find warmth? There was no warmth but him that mattered. She was threatening to freeze over and he was chaining Prometheus to a rock all over again. 

[break][break]

Prometheus Bound. Andromeda Chained to the Rocks. Why was she always the one pushed to the side, never even the tragic hero, but rather simply something lovely and doomed. She was standing right by what she needed to live. That fire was getting snuffed out again.  

[break][break]

"I've been out in the cold forever." she said. But it wasn't true. Not forever. She was raised in a sun-speckled meadow and he had taken it from her, because that golden meadow was despair and the thing creeping in on her now was cold, hard hope. She didn't want to be warm if it would be like this. She would shiver forever. She would fear the rain and duck out of the elements. She would drag herself out of the storm. 

[break][break] 

Hope was supposed to be glittery and ethereal and kind, and despair was supposed to be the chains that bound you, but if she was Prometheus, she had chained herself down. If she was Prometheus, the chains that rooted her here was hope. If she was Prometheus, the eagles attacking her was her own hunger, her own desire. If she was Prometheus, she had doomed herself. 

[break][break]

She wanted to surrender this metaphor and lay down her guard, but looking at the issue head on was somehow worse. It was somehow worse to accept the truth of all this, that what just happened had really happened, that she was the one anchoring herself here, that Nikolai didn't want her or didn't think he could keep her safe. It was somehow worse to think about it honestly, because then she was angry. 

[break][break]

"You do owe me an apology," she said, "But not for that. I'm not a child. I knew your reputation. I came anyway. I may not have your courtly attitudes, but no one made me either. Everyone here is treating me like a toy. I chose to stay." 

[break][break]

She was tired of being thrown around like a pawn, like something that didn't matter. She stumbled and tripped into her dreams, but she still had them. If she didn't want anything, she would be home with her siblings, sipping on over sweetened tea. If she didn't want anything she wouldn't have come back, she would have run and kept running. She would have run like he was running now.  

[break][break]

"Time is the only thing that's going to wring the water from my bones. Did you ever considered that you are far warmer than it is inside?" There were fewer prying eyes there too. Maybe that was the only reason she could say it out loud. Maybe she was winding her chains tighter with every word. Maybe she was ready to brave the falcons and the winds and the monsters of the sea. Maybe this time she wouldn't let herself get consumed.  

[break][break]

[newclass=.Lost]opacity:0;transition:all linear .5s;-webkit-transition:all linear .5s[/newclass][newclass=.Lost:hover]opacity:95%;transition:all linear .5s;-webkit-transition:all linear .5s;background-color:#b2bbc5[/newclass]

[Nikolai Hugh-Sokolov]

    Nikolai glanced sideways at Talia. She’d been in the cold forever? “What do you mean by that?” He didn’t know much about her past, that was true. He knew her mother burned her with mortal cigarettes, which— he had just been smoking. She could probably smell it on him. Is that what she was telling him he should apologize for? Mortal cigarettes had all sorts of metals in them, including iron, but the fae’s cigarettes were more herbal. Even so, the very sight of the smoke in the air could have brought back bad memories for her. How long had she been standing there before he spoke? She probably had seen him put out the last cigarette. “Do I need to apologize for smoking? I know you’ve had a bad experience with them, and it was insensitive of me to do it around you. I didn’t have any intention of hurting you with them either. I’m sorry.”

    She was looking back out at the stars, so Nikolai turned his gaze to them as well. He’d always liked looking at the night sky. It comforted him, maybe because it was always the same. It was like the one constant thing in his life. Maybe that’s why he’d sneak out of bed after spending the night with yet another girl, and go up to the roof to smoke and look at the sky. There were always different girls to flirt with, new parties to throw, and people to impress, but the night sky stayed the same. It saw him hate himself, and saw him feel good too. That fact gave him an odd sense of peace. Even if he lost Talia, the sky would still be there. He would change, and the sky wouldn’t. “I didn’t mean to treat you like an object. That’s not how I think of you, I hope you know that.”

    Why did it feel difficult to speak to her tonight? How had been able to come into her studio and touch her scars and tell her she was beautiful within the first hour of meeting her? How had he been able to save her life, defend her to a bloodthirsty princess, and now couldn’t even find the words to say to her? Nikolai didn’t understand it. She was telling him that he was the warmth she needed. But how was he supposed to respond to that? He had been the one to put her in danger in the first place. He was the reason she’d gotten cold. “I don’t feel warm, Talia.” he responded dully. He knew that she would understand he wasn’t talking about the temperature.

TAGS: Talia Avedon

★fai

I'll draw stars around your scars.

[Talia Avedon]

[nospaces]

[attr="class","Lost"]

[break]

Nikolai Hugh-Sokolov

703 Words

Music

see notes below

[break][break]

Only just one moment of sleep [break]







but you dream of some epiphany

[break][break]



Impression (noun): 

[break][break]


1: the effect produced by impressing: such as 

[break][break]

a: an especially marked and often favorable influence or effect on feeling, sense, or mind 

[break][break]

2: an often indistinct or imprecise notion or remembrance 

[break][break]

3 

[break][break]

a: a telling image impressed on the senses or the mind [break]

b: an effect of alteration or improvement[break]
c: a characteristic, trait, or feature resulting from some influence [break][break]


4: an imitation or representation of key features in an artistic or theatrical medium

[break][break]

5: (-ism): a style or movement in painting originating in France in the 1860s, characterized by a concern with depicting the visual impression of the moment, especially in terms of the shifting effect of light and color. [break]
a literary or artistic style that seeks to capture a feeling or experience rather than to achieve accurate depiction.

---

[break][break]

Talia was irritated and horrified, irritated with him for being so immediately shallow and horrified with herself for falling for it. When had she put him up on a pedestal and why was she the one falling now? What was supposed to make him different?


[break][break]
A toy. That’s all she was. So he paraded into her life, so he called her his “guest of honor”, so one thing went wrong and he was tired of her now. Why did she think it would be any different? She could have thrown herself at him and he would have just seen it as an everyday act. Isn’t that what just happened?


[break][break]
She should pull herself up and brush the metaphorical marble off her shoulders. The railings were still wet with dew, but the ground was dry. She could sit down and sink into it, let it immerse her. She had dared not to be consumed by outside forces. Had she ever considered that she was the thing that was going to destroy her? Hubris wasn’t supposed to be her fatal flaw, but hubris wasn’t the only thing that could eat you alive.


[break][break]
Immersion. She had been immersed in water and immersed in his orbit and immersed in the idea of him that she had. Creation. She had created a vision of him in her mind and it was destroying her. Was the anger she felt at him or at herself. She didn’t even know if it was anger. She felt prickling at her skin. Her face felt red. She was a fool.


[break][break]
”Not if you’re not going to come near me with them.” she said more bitterly than she intended. It wasn’t even quite true, because the smoke stung her scarred lungs either way, but it was true because she didn’t need him to apologize. Not when he couldn’t even look her in the face and see the thing he was apologizing for. ”Not if you’re not going to burn me with them every time I say or do anything you don’t like.” she was speaking too quickly, wasn’t she? That was impudent to say. ”You can just scorn me anyway.”



She stared past him, unsure if the glittering she saw on the railings was really dew or her own tears. The sky glittered like it was trying to outshine him and it still didn’t work. The shine of the villa behind her felt like it was mocking her. The scene was so perfect– the tortured Duke, alone after being sought by two beautiful women, and she was stomping all over it with her childishness and her foolishness. She was dragging her hopeful chains behind her and cutting into the masonry.


[break][break]
”Are you really so immersed in your own perceptions that you don’t even understand the real problem?” she demanded. There was that word again. The thing that landed them all here in the first place. Nikolai thought he was her problem when it was the absence of him that was burning a hole through her heart. And she was ridiculous for expecting him to fix that, to even let that idea take root, because he threw stones into the lake of her misery and she was trapped under the water, watching them sink. At least she wasn’t trapped in his house of glass, but she would drown for his company. ”Not even a day ago you held me and made grand promises, but is your word only as good as that of my mother’s? Maybe you should stay away.” Her mother could break promises. She was mortal. He couldn’t. She could feel him holding her, because that was the only thing that she could remember. Everything else was hazy, but she knew him. ”You enjoy your glass house.” she said. ”I hope the landscape is pretty. I will be out with my feet in the soil.” It would be dirty and it would be messy and it would be god-forsakenly alone, but it would be true.[break][break]



That idea offered her no comfort. What warmth, what fire, what comfort for her mattered now? She was shedding marble dust as he broke free from her statuesque version of him because she wouldn’t let herself shed tears.




[break][break]

[newclass=.Lost]opacity:0;transition:all linear .5s;-webkit-transition:all linear .5s[/newclass][newclass=.Lost:hover]opacity:95%;transition:all linear .5s;-webkit-transition:all linear .5s;background-color:#b2bbc5[/newclass]

[Nikolai Hugh-Sokolov]

    Nikolai tried not to wince at the bitter way Talia spoke. He didn’t want her to be upset, but did he even have a say? He couldn’t control her. He couldn’t control everything, couldn’t control anything at all. How could he live his life when he had control over nothing? He was practically hurtling through the universe, on a random course, at the mercy of anything that tried to cross his path. Talia crossed his path, intercepted him, and rocked his world. The only question left to answer was whether their orbits would combine or if they would eventually veer off from each other. They could always grow closer together, but would they end up growing apart or would they stay together?

    Were those tears he saw on Talia’s cheeks? He sighed, letting his head fall into his hands. He looked up at the stars again. “How did I scorn you? It wasn’t my intention, just so you know.” Nikolai was fighting to stay patient. It was so hard not to let the annoyance creep into his voice. He didn’t see how he had scorned her in the first place. He’d been the one who’d saved her life. And now she was going on about him scorning her? “No, Talia, I don’t understand what you’re going on about.” It was coming. It was all going to bubble over and Nikolai would not be able to stop it. “Do you know how exhausting it is to have to constantly apologize for the actions of everyone else? Because let me tell you, I am drained.” Well, there it was. He didn’t want to be mean, but he was exhausted and frustrated, and it was all coming out now.

    “I know I was sentenced to a life of being held accountable for the actions of others. That’s my life as the heir to the East Court’s throne and I’ve come to terms with it. But I thought maybe for once, maybe with you, I wouldn’t have to constantly apologize. I thought you’d understand that I feel sorry for everything I’ve ever done wrong, and that we could move past all of my flaws. I guess I was mistaken.” His voice was getting louder and louder, piercing the still night. He stood, going to lean out over the balcony as if that would calm him down. It didn’t. He turned back to face Talia, hands raking through his hair. The perfect picture of a tortured prince.

    “I’m sorry that I invited you to my party. I’m sorry I put a target on your back by naming you my guest of honor. I’m sorry that the Princess of the Undersea tried to drown you. I’m sorry that there were girls who came before you. Many, many girls. I’m sorry for the way I treated them and everyone else in my life. I’m sorry that you had a mother who put cigarettes on your skin and thoughts in your head. I’m sorry that I wanted you and I still want you but you refuse to let yourself indulge in anything that makes you feel remotely happy. Anything else I need to apologize for?” His voice broke off, and he didn’t realize how loud he’d been speaking, yelling, really, until the silence roared through his ears louder than any scream. His chest was heaving from the exertion, and he instantly regretted everything.

    “I know I fucked up, okay Talia? I get it. Everyone gets it.” He had been trying so, so hard to be better. But it was so hard to be a better person when everyone wanted to remind him of the reason he needed to be better. How many times would he have to be penitent? Would he ever be forgiven? “But what nobody seems to get, no matter how hard I try, is that I’m not trying to be that person anymore. I thought you might have understood, but you’re just like the rest of them.” Nikolai hated how he was speaking to her. His voice was almost as venomous as the Undersea Princess’s had been, and he could feel the sting himself. He imagined this was how her parents would have spoken to her, so scathing and unloving.

    And he regretted it. He regretted it so much. Was this his punishment, the penance he’d have to do for the rest of his life? Regretting every single thing he did, every choice he made, everything, down to the very breaths he took? But even in the heat of his anger, knew there would always be one thing he didn’t regret. Her. He could never regret her. He was totally spiraling but he didn’t dare apologize for saving her life. Because he never would. Maybe that meant he wasn’t a total lost cause. It gave him hope. After everything, and even though he knew better, he could still dare to hope. And Nikolai regretted that.

TAGS: Talia Avedon

★fai

I'll draw stars around your scars.

[Talia Avedon]

[nospaces]

[attr="class","Lost"]

[break]

Nikolai Hugh-Sokolov

1276 Words

Music

see notes below

[break][break]

Only just one moment of sleep [break]







but you dream of some epiphany

[break][break]



Impression (noun): 

[break][break]


1: the effect produced by impressing: such as 

[break][break]

a: an especially marked and often favorable influence or effect on feeling, sense, or mind 

[break][break]

2: an often indistinct or imprecise notion or remembrance 

[break][break]

3 

[break][break]

a: a telling image impressed on the senses or the mind [break]

b: an effect of alteration or improvement[break]
c: a characteristic, trait, or feature resulting from some influence [break][break]


4: an imitation or representation of key features in an artistic or theatrical medium

[break][break]

5: (-ism): a style or movement in painting originating in France in the 1860s, characterized by a concern with depicting the visual impression of the moment, especially in terms of the shifting effect of light and color. [break]
a literary or artistic style that seeks to capture a feeling or experience rather than to achieve accurate depiction.

---

[break][break]


The idealism that had trapped them here was what was going to kill them. The storm was rising and they were both too stuck in their ways to escape. He wasn't listening to her. He was yelling at her and he raised his hand and she was seven years old again, standing by while her parents fought. Her father raised his voice and her mother tightened her tone, raining down curses on his head, waving her arms around. Talia could not hear much of what was said, hiding behind a cupboard, hands over her head. She just wanted food. It was the middle of the day and the strawberries were all overripe and smushed, and she had come in to get berries to feed to the rabbits outside. Her mother was there. 

[break][break]

When she was young, Talia lived for her mother's visits. Esther seemed to be the queen she was named after, coming back with jewels that disappeared in a few days. Now Talia realized that they must have been glamoured leaves and stones that she was granted in her travels. Now Talia released that all of her mother was like that, plainness disguised as majesty. Now Talia feared that she was the same thing. But there was one thing that was true about Esther-- she was stunning. She was the most beautiful person had ever seen before Talia met Nikolai. The fae were lovely, but Esther was something else, a kind of beauty that reminded you of things being imagined, things being created. The image of her mother standing in the Sistine chapel both of them in white dresses, before she vanished for good, was imprinted on Talia's mind like a handprint. It was art at its finest and the only thing that had ever challenged it was the image of Nikolai now, staring at her with pain in his eyes and hands in his hair. The idealism that had brought her hear trapped her hear, staring at his visage. The fear that had gotten her this far in life trapped her here, not allowing her to move any closer. In his eyes were sky and sea, the sky that had comforted her and the sea that had drowned her. In his eyes was hope and terror. They reflected back war flashes.


[break][break]
Her father had raised his hand. Her mother had faced him. Talia heard this and this only. "I won't be afraid of you. If you creatures could break me, you would have." That was all her mother said, but she couldn't even call the fae people. They were just creatures to her. Talia was a creature to her. 


[break][break]
She heard a crash. She didn't see anything. Her eyes were closed. But she knew what happened, now, when men yelled at you, when they raised their hands toward you. She knew what came from it. She knew what pain looked like. It looked like her father that evening when she was seven. It looked like her mother with a lit cigarette. It looked like Nikolai right now.


[break][break]
"You can call me a creature, but you're a whore," her father spat. "And your daughter will be just like you."  


[break][break]
Talia thought her mother would be silent. She expected her to be silent. But Esther spoke. Her voice was rough. "Your daughter too." she said. "She came from you."


[break][break]

When did her parentage become blame to assign? What had Talia done that was so despicable that her parents couldn't stand to say her name?  If she was destined to be just like both of them, then why did they have to be so awful? Would she really be that awful someday? 


[break][break]
All Talia knew then, all she knew now, was that she was hated, unwanted, despised. She had run out on that summer evening. Her parents didn't even hear her go. Now? There was nowhere to run but straight back into the ocean that had drowned her or off a drop that would crush her. 


[break][break]
She was faced with the same thing. She half expected him to call her some name and waited for the blow. She had heard all of them before. Throw at her mother or whispered behind Talia's back when she stood on the boat. The girl's eyes said it all. Your daughter will be just like you. Maybe this was her fate after all.


[break][break]
And just like her mother, she couldn't stand quietly. But against her own will, he threw his hand up, and she flinched. 


[break][break]
"You won't look at me!" she cried back, scared to her core, disbelieving everything she said. "All you see me as is another mistake, another thing to apologize. So be sorry for me. Add me to your list of regrets and do your perfect penitence. But how can you say you want me when you won't look at me?" She was looking at him. He was so perfect she couldn't drag her eyes away. Her idealism was going to be the death of her. She wasn't making it out of this one unscathed.


[break][break]
"How can you hear me as someone demanding your apologies? I don't want them. I want you, I want you to look at me, I want you to see me as something other than an apology or something that can fix you." And what she wanted, she couldn't have. She had decided to stay and decided to hope but he was reminding her of the truth, the truth as cold as the dew before them and as hard as the marble under her feet. She was unwanted, and her mother was unwanted, and they always would be. She was begging him to do something, to say something, to reach for her, but his arms were draw in or thrown up and never reaching out or her. He wouldn't. He wanted to better and she was incompatible with that.


[break][break]
"So be better!" she said. "You wouldn't even call off that princess and now you're telling this to me? You are putting challenge to her vow. What have I done to deserve your fury?" It was a stupid question. She knew the answer. 


[break][break]
"Nikolai. I am a fool of a girl for wanting you. I am a fool for thinking you wanted me. The fae are changeable. Do you need my forgiveness? I can pretend you have it." She might not be able to say it, but then again, he managed to get out that he wanted her. Even now she couldn't understand how he did it. He must have believed them. It couldn't be true. She could only hope he would see sense, but she was tired of hoping for him, hoping for nothing. "I am unwanted and burdensome. Stop trying to fool both of us."[break][break]
He had the dignity to apologize. Talia couldn't even fight her fate anymore. She was the crude obstacle in between the princess and the duke. She was always the poet, never the poem. She needed to give up.


[break][break]
"Of course I'm terrified of going after anything I want. It ends like this " They had been a tragedy for too long. How long could they stay like this before they were just too far gone?


[break][break]
This long, it seemed.


[break][break]
This was the real drowning, wasn't it? She had thought the ocean was bad, but her despair was worse. This was colder than the grave ad more finite than eternity itself. It was unmovable and exact, like it had been hewn out of stone. One day there might be a statue or a monument to this moment, but for now there was just quiet. She had nothing more to say.
[break][break]

[newclass=.Lost]opacity:0;transition:all linear .5s;-webkit-transition:all linear .5s[/newclass][newclass=.Lost:hover]opacity:95%;transition:all linear .5s;-webkit-transition:all linear .5s;background-color:#b2bbc5[/newclass]

[Nikolai Hugh-Sokolov]

    Nikolai had only been gesturing, but Talia had taken his gesticulations as something else. “You think I was gonna hit you? Are you kidding me? I know that I have a terrible reputation and that I am a terrible person but I have never and will never hit a girl. Especially not you.” He remembered the day in her sunroom where he had touched the scars on her arms, horrified that someone would ever do such a thing to someone else. He was horrified that she’d flinched from him, that she thought he’d stoop so low as to lay his hands on her in any manner other than a peaceful one. “But you just wanna see me as the villain in this situation, don’t you?” It wasn’t her fault, his conscience was screaming at him. She only acted this way because she didn’t know any better. But the heat of the moment told his conscience to shut it, and his anger clouded any kindness he might have offered her. “Might I remind you, I saved your life.”

    He lowered his gaze to meet hers. Their eyes were directly across from each other, striking brown on dazzling blue. “I’ve been looking at you! I’m looking at you right now.” He probably looked like he was going crazy, which he kind of was. He probably looked like his father. This was how Rex Hugh argued. Voice raised, hands flying wildly. This was how he found followers and kept them in check. Nikolai had seen it happen too many times. He was just like Talia. He had been imprinted upon. She’d been made shy, and he had been made a monster. “Satisfied? You know, I would look at you more but you’re so sensitive that if I stared too long I might make you uncomfortable.” She was of so much importance to him, he’d always known he needed to tread carefully. Talia wasn’t delicate, but she was fragile. Easily spooked, easily broken. He knew he needed to be gentle, but gentleness required patience, and Nikolai’s was quickly running out.

    Why couldn’t she see that he cared about her? Well, now that everything had escalated to this point, he could understand that she would be upset with him, but what about before? He knew it was going to take a long time for her to truly trust him. He’d always known. “I mean, you just look at me with your big sad eyes and go on and on about the ‘real problem’ and how I ‘made you promises and then broke them’ but guess what? Things change. What, you think I planned for you to almost die?” He’d been naive before tonight, and it would never happen again. He’d thought that whatever had sparked between the two of them would be easy, and the only challenge Nikolai would face would be to have to have patience with her. Jin-hwa had thrown a wrench into the gears of his life, and now he was expected to keep everything going smoothly, while trying to contain an explosion that was bound to happen. Well he’d failed one thing. That explosion was happening now.

    “Talia, I am trying!” His voice was so strained, pulled taut like moorings. The ropes were fraying now. Whatever tether had drawn them together in the first place was about to snap, and they would fly back to their original trajectories. They would be left floating in the ether, swallowed by the current. “Should I be flattered that you think I could have called her off? You don’t understand how the Undersea fae work. You cannot control them. Especially not Jin-hwa. The sea does not like to be restrained.” How much longer could he keep this up? He was leading everything on, he was the one twisting the knife into his own gut. Why? Why couldn’t he be the bigger person? “I just messed up all the diplomatic progress that the East Court has made with the Undersea and my father is currently indisposed, which means I’m the one who has to deal with it.” Nikolai should have been downstairs right now. He should excuse himself and apologize for everything and let this all simmer down. He should apologize to the guests, make sure everybody leaves, and make arrangements to speak with the East Court advisors as soon as possible.

    “But instead, I’m up here dealing with you, because you are my priority, despite everything. So how can you say these things? I’m not trying to fool anyone! I told you the truth, because that’s all I can say.” But what if she was right? The spark of hope he’d felt just seconds before had grown cold. In its place came doubt, creeping and growing in his mind. What if she was right? What if she was just another girl in a long line of forgotten lovers? No, she couldn’t be. Nikolai would not let her be. He was going to value her, he was going to treat her better than she’d ever been treated, and he was going to learn how to be better. And it was going to be hard, but sacrifices were always made in return for good things. This was going to be his penitence, and she would be the graces given to him in return. “No, Talia. This isn’t ending. I refuse to let it end like this. This has only just begun.”

TAGS: Talia Avedon

★fai

I'll draw stars around your scars.

[Talia Avedon]

[nospaces]

[attr="class","Lost"]

[break]

Nikolai Hugh-Sokolov

792 Words

Music

see notes below

[break][break]

Only just one moment of sleep [break]







but you dream of some epiphany

[break][break]



Impression (noun): 

[break][break]


1: the effect produced by impressing: such as 

[break][break]

a: an especially marked and often favorable influence or effect on feeling, sense, or mind 

[break][break]

2: an often indistinct or imprecise notion or remembrance 

[break][break]

3 

[break][break]

a: a telling image impressed on the senses or the mind [break]

b: an effect of alteration or improvement[break]
c: a characteristic, trait, or feature resulting from some influence [break][break]


4: an imitation or representation of key features in an artistic or theatrical medium

[break][break]

5: (-ism): a style or movement in painting originating in France in the 1860s, characterized by a concern with depicting the visual impression of the moment, especially in terms of the shifting effect of light and color. [break]
a literary or artistic style that seeks to capture a feeling or experience rather than to achieve accurate depiction.

---

[break][break]


Talia could feel her eyes welling with tears, and she hated herself for it. "I didn't say anything." She tried to force herself to calm down, to act like none of this to mattered, to be still as the statue she imagined him as. It didn't work.[break][break]

That's what he wanted, wasn't it? A piece of art. Something pretty to put on the wall. A girl who would laugh and smile and fake it for him. He wanted a toy, something that never showed emotion he didn't like. Wasn't that what her father wanted? Hadn't she said nothing for long enough?[break][break]

"But honestly," she said, anger building, the tears coming even though she hated it, "What else am I supposed to think? You're acting exactly like my father did. I've never met your father, but I've heard stories, Nikolai Hugh. What's next? Are you going to force me to do whatever you like? Just take whatever it is that you want without a second thought?" She was being unfair and unreasonable, but why was he the only one who got to be harsh? She threw his last name in his face like an insult. She didn't want some damn prince or title. She wanted him, and now she wasn't even sure on that. 
[break][break]
"Do you want to know how I got my burns?" she asked, her voice heated, her words coming in too fast. She shouldn't be telling him this. Even now, he inspired too much in her. She could see the painting that would be this moment: On the Precipice, a chained and ruined Saturn falling into Tartarus, an image of the horrors below. She could see the colors of the fire in the gold of his hair. He was the inspiration for everything now. He didn't understand for how long.
[break][break]
"After the revel, I couldn't forget your eyes. Yours. So I painted again and again, trying to capture that feeling, and when I thought I was close, I sent it to your father, to your aunt. Your father never answered. Your aunt did. My father found the tests. Found the letter. Do you want to know what he did?"
[break][break]
These were her greatest secrets, he greatest horrors, the things that kept her up at night. She was throwing them at him like bullets. She didn't want him to feel sorry. She wanted the message to be clear. You cannot hurt me more. She had been beaten and bruised and she had forced herself to stay rigid, to stay hopeful, to stay inspired. But she was always the painter, never the muse. How did he like to be faced with these things? She would never know, because he would never tell her that. Secrets weren't shared with toys. Maybe that was really the point she was trying to say. Usually, she could see her thoughts in vivid images, laid out as oil on canvas. Now it was nothing at all but those flames in the back of her mind. Which flames were they?
[break][break]
"He set everything on fire. The letter, the painting, me. I burned my arms trying to save it. I failed. It was all ashes in the end. Without the letter, I wasn't meant to be able to get to the Eats Court." She did. She bartered and promised and walked and ended up getting there late, but she got there. Her father had not stopped her. It was the one thing she had ever wanted. When did that number grow? It was all ashes now too.
[break][break]
'You don't want me. You want a toy. You have your spiel and your story about how this can't end, but it never started, and it never will. You're a coward, like your father. Do you think sensitive is the worst thing I have ever been called?" Even now, she was showing faith in him, just by standing here. If she truly thought he was his father, she wouldn't have risked it. She would have run when she had the chance. But he was acting like his father, like he was someone to emulate. She thought he was better than this. She had thought she was better than this. Anger was making her cruel.
[break][break]
Had the Undersea girl been right? Had Talia misjudged him that badly? Was the ocean in his eyes the thing that would do her in? Should she just run now? She now understood how she was like her mother. Her mother hadn't taken insult silently and Talia wouldn't either. She had fought to be here. She knew she deserved it. She would not let him take it from her.
[break][break]
After all, she was the same fool she'd always been, the same hopeless romantic with far too much hope.

[break][break]

[newclass=.Lost]opacity:0;transition:all linear .5s;-webkit-transition:all linear .5s[/newclass][newclass=.Lost:hover]opacity:95%;transition:all linear .5s;-webkit-transition:all linear .5s;background-color:#b2bbc5[/newclass]

[Nikolai Hugh-Sokolov]

    Nikolai was trying so hard to calm himself down. If he didn’t, this night would end worse than it already was. He took a deep breath and sat back down next to her, careful not to be too close. He placed his hands on his knees, knuckles fisting in the fabric of his pants. He didn’t have to look at her to know she was crying. His knuckles were turning white. “You didn’t have to say anything. Your reaction said it all.” His voice was so void of emotion again. Maybe Nikolai had finally been exhausted of all emotion. The curtain had fallen between them again, distancing them. It didn’t seem like a good thing, but maybe it was a blessing in disguise. He was so, so sorry for how he’d spoken to her. But he needed to get it out, and maybe now that he’d gotten it all out they could just move on. She was right.

    Hugh. The name shouldn’t have stung. It was his name, after all. But he was acting like his father. Wasn’t that why he kept his mother’s surname as well? He was half of her and half of his father. Would he end up more like his father than his mother? Would the servant maids cower as he passed them in the halls? Would they clutch their daughters to their sides, muss their hair, and smudge soot on their cheeks to make them look dull? What lengths would they go to to pass under his attention? But he had to think he was different because he didn’t want to hurt anyone. He’d never take what he wanted by force. Besides, it was so much more fun when both parties involved had consented and were comfortable. “No. I would never do that. I know I’ve hurt you, but I would never go so far.”

    Nikolai was quiet after that, and when she started her story he didn’t even look at her. He didn’t think he could. He could imagine her tear-stained cheeks, mottled and flushed, her big brown full of tears and sadness. And he’d caused all that. He was too ashamed to face her. How had they gotten so lost in translation? Had he asked too much of her? She could have turned them into a masterpiece, and he had gone and torn it all up. Nikolai listened as she spoke, voice shaking with emotion. The story started calmly, tentatively. He rose, standing at the balcony while he listened. She spoke of the Revel, of her paintings, his father, and his aunt. I couldn’t forget your eyes. And he hadn’t been able to forget hers either. Nikolai had thought he’d fallen hard, but he hadn’t been the one who sought out the other. Talia had found him. She had been the one who orchestrated everything. Without her, none of this would have ever happened.

    He turned to face her when she mentioned her father. He took it all in. The fire, the burns, the destruction of her art. But she had made it. Somehow she had. And he wanted her all the more for it. Nikolai was looking at her now, and he could feel the rage building again, slowly, but this time it was not directed at her. It was directed at her father. His father was not perfect, in fact, his father could even be called evil. But Rex Hugh had never lifted a finger against his son, mainly because most days he did not even remember that he had one. It would have been better for Talia if she had been forgotten and ignored, and not subjected to a torture of this gravity. What would Nikolai have given for them to have been able to trade places? “No.” he couldn’t think that he’d been the one to hurt her the most she’d ever been hurt. “I can imagine you’ve been called much, much worse.” He took a step towards her.

    He was feeling guilty again. Nikolai knew he’d just gone on a rampage about how he didn’t want to have to be sorry to everyone, including her, but after this, he owed it to her to be sorry. And he truly was. It wasn’t the sort of condolence that someone felt when they spoke to someone who was grieving. That kind of apology was insincere, a comfort that wasn’t actually comforting but would be rude not to give. What he felt now was true guilt, like he’d been the one who’d gone through it all, not her. Talia hadn’t deserved any of it, and it made him angry. But mostly, it made him sad. It had affected her, and not for the better. He needed to make amends, for everything. He owed it to her.

    “Talia. I don’t know how to respond.” That wasn’t exactly true. He knew he needed to say he was sorry for everything he’d said to her. He knew he needed to beg for forgiveness. So what was stopping him? Nikolai took another step forward, standing close enough for their knees to brush against each other. “I didn’t know. I wish you’d told me about your father.” Why? What would it have changed? Talia was not Jin-hwa. She did not seem to be the type to need to exact vengeance. He sighed. He felt so awkward now. What was he supposed to do next? Nothing he did could possibly take away the pain she’d been forced to endure. He could spend his whole life trying to atone and it would never be enough. He didn’t know what else to do, so he knelt.

    He went down on his knees before her, and the irony of the situation was not lost on him. So many girls had come before her. So many girls had knelt at his feet in the heat of passion and he had forgotten them because it had all been meaningless. There was meaning here though. He was trying to humble himself before her, kneeling like a penitent believer at the foot of a grand altar. Some believed the gods were merciful, and most of the time they were not. But maybe he could beg her enough. Maybe she would hear his prayers and forgive him.

    He bowed his head. “I’m sorry Talia.” It captured everything he was sorry for. For your father, and your mother, and my father and mother, and everything promised you before and everything I said to you tonight and in all the way I will ever hurt you, because I know it will happen again, no matter how much I try not to. And he was so tired, so tired of apologizing, but wasn’t that such a small burden to bear in the face of all that she’d been through? And when he spoke next his voice trembled slightly, but his voice was raw and full of emotion. Full of truth. “I am so, so sorry. For everything.”

TAGS: Talia Avedon

★fai

I'll draw stars around your scars.

[Talia Avedon]

[nospaces]

[attr="class","Lost"]

[break]

Nikolai Hugh-Sokolov

1,016 Words

Music

see notes below

[break][break]

Only just one moment of sleep [break]







but you dream of some epiphany

[break][break]



Impression (noun): 

[break][break]


1: the effect produced by impressing: such as 

[break][break]

a: an especially marked and often favorable influence or effect on feeling, sense, or mind 

[break][break]

2: an often indistinct or imprecise notion or remembrance 

[break][break]

3 

[break][break]

a: a telling image impressed on the senses or the mind [break]

b: an effect of alteration or improvement[break]
c: a characteristic, trait, or feature resulting from some influence [break][break]


4: an imitation or representation of key features in an artistic or theatrical medium

[break][break]

5: (-ism): a style or movement in painting originating in France in the 1860s, characterized by a concern with depicting the visual impression of the moment, especially in terms of the shifting effect of light and color. [break]
a literary or artistic style that seeks to capture a feeling or experience rather than to achieve accurate depiction.

---

[break][break]

Whatever she was expecting, it was not this. Nikolai was like nothing she'd ever faced before. [break][break]

She was sitting on the same marble bench she had found him on, turned so her back was against the railing. He was pacing, walking back and forth, and she was struck how nothing about this conversation had changed. They had just switched places. They were struck in a loop, tied up in strings of fate, waiting for everything to unravel. The circle would just keep continuing. [break][break]

And then something near-miraculous happened: it didn't.[break][break]

He stopped walking and turned to face her. She could feel her breath catch. The storm that had been threatening all day was still on the horizon, but around her, gentle rain began to fall. It wasn't cold, wasn't uncomfortable. It felt like reassurance or a reminder that the world would keep spinning. They might stay suspended in this moment, caught in this loop, but the world would keep circling again and again. Time would move on without her. She was immortal. Maybe she wouldn't notice.[break][break]

Was even a frozen eternity so bad if it was stuck with him? She was ever so hopeful, and her heart twisted from it. Her hope wasn't gold unless it was the gold of ichor, the gold of blood. Her hope was something darker and more desperate than sunlight. Something stronger and more useless too. Her hope was the current that pulled her under, or he was, or they were the same thing. She hoped for beauty and he was ever so beautiful.
[break][break]
When he spoke, when he stepped towards her, what did she expect? She was afraid of a memory, not him. She was terrified of what he might do next. He was a paradoxical picture. His voice was so flat and his eyes were so bright. Her were glistening now, but she was not lovely when she cried. Really, she never was lovely, just mysterious enough to make people want to know more. And then they got tired.
[break][break]
But whatever she was expecting, it was not this. He was kneeling before her and she almost moved back, the cold marble balcony pressing into her shoulders, before she realized what he was doing. Did she think he would hurt her? Did he think she would hurt him? They had both drawn blood. 
[break][break]
She set her hands on his shoulders, pulling him closer when she ought to have pushed him away. What else was she supposed to do? Talia found herself stunned, set off guard by him. He did this to her. Every time she imagined that she might have straightened out her mind, he sent it all into a blur again. She would have been irritated, but then again, she chose to paint with watercolors and nothing else. Watercolors had potential.
[break][break]
In watercolors, nothing was definite. In watercolors, there were possibilities and nothing else. In watercolors, anything was possible. No color was finite. Lines were blurred or never even existed. In watercolors, everything could change at the drop of a hat or the whim of the artist. What had she said when she met him? You are a painting. I am a painter. We are not the same. Yet in the same breath, she had thought of how he could never be a good painting, because he was too perfect. What was he now?
[break][break]
She looked down at the boy she was holding in her hands, and all the world balanced between his eyes. She could not see any painting. She could not picture this moment in Neoclassical guilt. He was as beautiful as ever, but he was just a person. He was just a boy. He wanted to be hers. Could she deny him that through her idolization and delineation? 
[break][break]
She had not reached for him first. She was never so bold as to make the first move. She had supposed he must have been from the East Court, must have been important, but she didn't know. She didn't seek him out or ask him. She just went there with her petty, unbreakable, world-shaking, useless hope. How could you hate the only thing that kept you alive? Was that why she couldn't hate him? Her anger was dissipating like smoke. The rain falling on her face was a reminder, that she wasn't sunlight, that she was alive, that they were both real. She slid down from her seat before him. She was tired of pedestals.
[break][break]
The ground was still mostly dry. The rain was a mist at best. She was kneeling before him. His head was still bowed. She slid her hands from his shoulders so that she was cupping his face and pulled it upwards so he was looking at her.
[break][break]
"I forgive you," she said. He didn't need her forgiveness. She wasn't the one to give it. He had hurt her, but he had saved her life so many more times than just today. She wished he could forgive himself, but no one was perfect, not even him. Why was that notion so freeing? He wasn't something to earn, just a boy who needed to be loved. She was not so different. Her hands were in his hair. She was ruining the picture of the tortured prince. For the first time in her life, she didn't need a picture. 
[break][break]
And it wasn't a perfect picture. Her feet were tucked under her at an odd angle. Her hands were in his hair and his hair was a mess. It was raining. Her face was wet from tears. Her shirt was nearly sheer from being soaked. He wasn't the warmth she imagined. This was better. She could feel his heartbeat under her fingers, skipping beats but brilliantly authentic. Her back was pressed into the marble bench. It would leave impressions on her skin that would clear like her burns wouldn't. She was wet for the second time today.
[break][break]
In this beautifully imperfect picture, she was not the rain or the artist or the stars in the background. She wasn't even off to the left. She was the subject. 
[break][break]

[newclass=.Lost]opacity:0;transition:all linear .5s;-webkit-transition:all linear .5s[/newclass][newclass=.Lost:hover]opacity:95%;transition:all linear .5s;-webkit-transition:all linear .5s;background-color:#b2bbc5[/newclass]

[Nikolai Hugh-Sokolov]

    Nikolai felt his tears fall just as the rain began. Was the sky trying to mock him or was it trying to purify him? Water was a ritual purifier. It was always used to cleanse. Tonight it had been used to harm, but now that he was on his knees, now that he was begging, it was falling, renewing him, cleansing them both. Was this mercy or was it just a beautiful irony? He kept letting himself hope that she would say something, but Talia was quiet for the longest time. His hands were on her knees, his brow so low that he was almost half falling into her lap. He waited for her because that was his job. He would always wait for her. He had to force himself to be patient, because he had lost his patience before and had come so close to losing her. Nikolai wouldn’t let it happen again.

    So he waited and waited, and it felt like he could’ve been on his knees waiting for years, even if only a few seconds had passed. But then he felt a hand on each of his shoulders, and he imagined that he’d never felt so warm a touch. Nikolai still couldn’t bring himself to look at her. Even in this moment, when the rest of the world had ceased to exist, he still felt shame. He had hurt her, and it was a double-sided sword, piercing both of their hearts. The pain he’d inflicted on her could only pass if he felt it too, and he felt his shame bubble up and then dissipate. Talia was moving. Down off the bench to kneel in front of him, and he still wasn’t looking at her, because he couldn’t bear it. Even when she cupped his face in her hands, his eyes were still cast towards the ground. Her hands were so soft, so gentle. He felt like he was a child again, cradled in his mother’s arms. He could almost hear her soft voice as she sang him lullabies from the North.

    I forgive you. Nikolai looked up. His eyes met hers and saw that she was crying too. The rain mixed in with the tears on his cheeks and he felt like he was drowning, but he felt like he could finally breathe. He let himself cry, let himself fold into her. He’d been the one to hold her on the boat. He’d been the one to make sure she was warm. Was it his turn now? “Thank you,” he sobbed. How those three words could change him, he’d never understand. But he felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest, because he was being held, by the only person who’d ever seen him for who he truly was. Nikolai wrapped his arms around her, clutching her to him. He was her anchor in this drifting world. He would be lost without her. He looked up at her, their gazes meeting. “Thank you, Talia,” he repeated. Nikolai studied her face, flushed from crying, filled with color after being so pallid. “Don’t ever let me treat you like that again. Please,” he begged. He could only beg of her, no one else. She was his savior. She was beautiful.

TAGS: Talia Avedon

★fai

I'll draw stars around your scars.

[Talia Avedon]

[nospaces]

[attr="class","Lost"]

[break]

Nikolai Hugh-Sokolov

664 Words

Music

see notes below

[break][break]

Only just one moment of sleep [break]







but you dream of some epiphany

[break][break]



Impression (noun): 

[break][break]


1: the effect produced by impressing: such as 

[break][break]

a: an especially marked and often favorable influence or effect on feeling, sense, or mind 

[break][break]

2: an often indistinct or imprecise notion or remembrance 

[break][break]

3 

[break][break]

a: a telling image impressed on the senses or the mind [break]

b: an effect of alteration or improvement[break]
c: a characteristic, trait, or feature resulting from some influence [break][break]


4: an imitation or representation of key features in an artistic or theatrical medium

[break][break]

5: (-ism): a style or movement in painting originating in France in the 1860s, characterized by a concern with depicting the visual impression of the moment, especially in terms of the shifting effect of light and color. [break]
a literary or artistic style that seeks to capture a feeling or experience rather than to achieve accurate depiction.

---

[break][break]

Talia held him, because there was nothing else she could do. Talia held him because he was her whole world. Talia held him because she felt like she had only been made for this moment. She was the muse, just for a breath, just for a lapse in time, and however momentary it was, it was exhilarating and horrifying. Was this immortality? If she could stay ageless holding him, she would do it.




[break][break]
And there were doubts and fears pressing down on her, and she did not know what to do. If he would ruin her she would let him. If he threw her into turbulent waters, she would fully believe that he would also pull her out. Never let me treat you like that again. She feared she might allow anything.




[break][break]
Yes, she had stood against him. Yes, she had fought. And yet, it was so draining. And yet, even now, she was just trying not to collapse into him. And yet, he was a prince and she was nothing, just a momentary muse. What could she do?




[break][break]
She would do anything for him. She could never stand against him. It was a cruel paradox, and she didn’t care. She just wanted to hold him. She just wanted him to stay. She would have said anything to get him to stay. She would have found a way to lie.




[break][break]
”Don’t thank me.” She said, still holding him. They were two drowning men, clinging to each other. The waves threatened them both, but they were not alone. They were each other’s rock. They were the only thing that mattered. She knew the revelers were beneath them, laying on couches and spilling wine. She knew that they would be there until the candles dimmed. She knew that they would not notice her absence, but they would notice his. She could see it in her mind.




[break][break]
It did not matter. This rain-soaked world was something entirely separate. Her hair was wet, plastered to her forehead. She couldn’t see through the mist. She didn’t need to. She knew he was dazzling.




[break][break]
A study in monochrome. A test of wills. The wind of fate. She could paint this a million ways in her mind and it would all come out the same. It would be the same two words. ”Just stay.”




[break][break]
And he was such a paradox. She would hold him because it was all she was ever meant to do. She would make him leave because she had to be something more. He could stay now, but he could not stay forever. She knew it as surely as she knew that she wanted him to. She could not grow around him because she would not being growing at all. She had to allow herself to become something better. She had no clue what could be better than this.




[break][break]
Was she just capitulating to fear? How could the brave thing be accepting comfort? The daring path carried inspiration and imagination. The bold artists achieve effective immortality. No one read about the timid.




[break][break]
She didn’t want to be legendary. She thought she might die if she wasn’t. This was legendary enough and she could never accept it. Whatever she achieved had to be hers.




[break][break]
And he would never be hers, and that was the problem, wasn’t it? How could he be? How could she pretend to claim him? He had a kingdom and other lovers. He had a people and a family. She had nothing but watercolors and dreaming. She would never be anything but this moment and he would be everything beyond it. They couldn’t stay here. She needed him to.




[break][break]
For a moment she could pretend that the world was really monochrome, and that one color was the blue in his eyes. For a moment, she could pretend that this rain-slicked floor was her home. For a moment, she could pretend that the storm was welcoming them and wasn’t a bad omen. She would take being momentary.






[break][break]

[newclass=.Lost]opacity:0;transition:all linear .5s;-webkit-transition:all linear .5s[/newclass][newclass=.Lost:hover]opacity:95%;transition:all linear .5s;-webkit-transition:all linear .5s;background-color:#b2bbc5[/newclass]