Post by Pebble on Oct 20, 2017 4:13:07 GMT
You know, Alula had felt fear many times before in her life. It was a familiar feeling, it was always there. It seemed to enjoy clinging to Alula's back, waiting for her to look at the darker side of the world despite her attempts to always smile and blind herself with the good. She was always busy with her life. Maybe not the type of busy you or I consider. She was busy telling herself she was going to be okay. Busy trying to keep out the darkened whispers of her own voice in her head. Busy trying to survive. It was a simple job, really. But it exhausted the youngest Winchester.
It was always as if she was drowning. As if an endless river was draining itself into her lungs and she was constantly fighting to keep her head above water while rocks and everything else cut deep gashes into her body, infecting her. Blood swirled around her constantly. She could taste it. That sickening, metallic taste. Yet, she had aquired a desire for it. For the scarlet artwork to paint her tongue in a twisted way that only a cannibal could love. But she wasn't one. She was loosing her mind, yes. And she was scared of that.
She's faced a man who chased her into a river. Faced a gunshot wound to the shoulder and survived it, faced supernatural beings. Faced having salt and lemon juice poured on her wounds, faced even starvation in her dreams. But this? This was a fear she had always bad, residing in the back of her head. The fear of losing her mind, losing her grip of her own body.
Alula's aching and tired body staggered it's way from the resting spot on the bed, hair a mess, blood smearing her mouth from where she's chewed the inside of her cheek raw, eyes dead, and her walk a mere stagger. The world was spinning, flashing in and out of reality. She had to tell him. Had to let him know that no matter what happened, no matter what Zabby boi fed her, that she loved him. He was on guard now. Her own stout frame matched his almost exactly, save for her being more lean than him thanks to a childhood of living on the streets and her recent malnourished stage. She stumbled the rest of the way, allowing her small and lithe frame to wrap itself against the stouter, steadier boulder of a man that she called 'Dad.'
She looked simular to a glass doll, honestly. She still held her rugged beauty, of course, despite the blood and tangled hair. But, her body was frail and thin and weak. It looked as if with a single nudge, she would fall over and shatter into a million peices. Her Aesthetic was broken yet beautiful in its own way. She buried her freckled face into Dean's chest, apple green eyes closing as she allowed a few tears to race each other down to her chin.
It was always as if she was drowning. As if an endless river was draining itself into her lungs and she was constantly fighting to keep her head above water while rocks and everything else cut deep gashes into her body, infecting her. Blood swirled around her constantly. She could taste it. That sickening, metallic taste. Yet, she had aquired a desire for it. For the scarlet artwork to paint her tongue in a twisted way that only a cannibal could love. But she wasn't one. She was loosing her mind, yes. And she was scared of that.
She's faced a man who chased her into a river. Faced a gunshot wound to the shoulder and survived it, faced supernatural beings. Faced having salt and lemon juice poured on her wounds, faced even starvation in her dreams. But this? This was a fear she had always bad, residing in the back of her head. The fear of losing her mind, losing her grip of her own body.
Alula's aching and tired body staggered it's way from the resting spot on the bed, hair a mess, blood smearing her mouth from where she's chewed the inside of her cheek raw, eyes dead, and her walk a mere stagger. The world was spinning, flashing in and out of reality. She had to tell him. Had to let him know that no matter what happened, no matter what Zabby boi fed her, that she loved him. He was on guard now. Her own stout frame matched his almost exactly, save for her being more lean than him thanks to a childhood of living on the streets and her recent malnourished stage. She stumbled the rest of the way, allowing her small and lithe frame to wrap itself against the stouter, steadier boulder of a man that she called 'Dad.'
She looked simular to a glass doll, honestly. She still held her rugged beauty, of course, despite the blood and tangled hair. But, her body was frail and thin and weak. It looked as if with a single nudge, she would fall over and shatter into a million peices. Her Aesthetic was broken yet beautiful in its own way. She buried her freckled face into Dean's chest, apple green eyes closing as she allowed a few tears to race each other down to her chin.
"I love you, Dad. And I always will. Please don't forget me." She muttered into his chest, clinging tighter like a lost child. She was reminded of the time he saved her, helped her from her gunshot wound. She was reminded of the time he held her close to his chest as he carried her back to the motel room with blood staining his body and her own chest, dripping down her aides as if something had eaten her alive. He had held her close. He had protected her. Now she was sobbing, Zab changing those memories. She was clinging to them almost as hard as she was to Dean right now. Had she not been so weak, she may have even broken a bone or too. "Please don't forget me..."