- May 14, 2023
- 201
- 33
- 28
⋆⁺₊ ☾ ⁺₊⋆ grief weighs heavy in swansong's chest, murky and swirling. bog-water gathers in her lungs, choking the air from her shaking body. she is wading through mud, her pace slowing and slowing. the earth calls her to join in. muck pulls at her ankles.
she is so very tired.
she trudges towards the graveyard before the earth can swallow her whole. it is hungry, she knows. it has tasted the blood of her kin and longs for more. a gaping maw, never to be sated. her lip curls.
desperate claws tear, tear, tear at every weed. clumps of gravedirt come loose with each motion, coating her paws in soil and rot. she's there, lying beneath the earth, mud choking her lungs and clinging to the bloodstained mats of her fur. they couldn't get it all off; even with lavender woven into her fur, applejaw still looked like a corpse. her throat, her throat - torn open, a murder, someone out to get them. out to get the best of them, smogstar and his mirror in ambition.
they'll all die sooner or later, a row of graves for every single member of her family, a cluster of little stones for ashenfall's unborn kits.
applejaw is down there. her claws sink into the soil. it should have been them. moons ago, moons ago - she's operating on borrowed time. the stars' mercy far too cruel to be called such. take me with you, please -
she shuts her eyes tightly, lets her exhausted body fall to the soft earth. she imagines the press of her sister's body against hers, the two of them side by side.
(buried alive, buried alive, buried alive)
(a better fate than whatever this is, pretending her heart still beats)
her breaths come gasping, choked. she can almost hear it - the sluggish beating of applejaw's heart, the scrabbling of her claws against the earth. reaching for them. she can smell the lavender, the iron, the rot. her eyes shoot open and she's in a field of flowers again.
lavender, this time.
lavender lavender lavender as far as the eye can see.
she grasps a stem in her teeth and tears.
blood spills from the soil as the roots come free. they dig their claws into the wound, let them tear through rotten and earthen flesh. the gash grows wider with every score of their claws. the flowers scream in a voice made of wind and dancing petals. it's cacophanous. she wants it quiet.
she digs and she digs until the white of her paws grows red.
she digs until she feels the beating of a heart beneath her paws.
her claws sink deep into it.
a choked sob tears its way from her throat as she looks up to the stars.
she is alone. the marsh is quiet and judging. "am i not... am i not good enough for you...?" she gasps out between ragged breaths. bonebrittle claws tear fitfully at the swamp grass. "was... was he not...?" their voice trembles like petals in the wind, teetering always upon the edge of tearing away. "why won't you answer me?" she demands in a snarl, staring down the faceless council, judging and still. stars dance in their hazy pelts.
she cannot tell if her parents are among them, if her sister's cold gaze rests upon her.
starclan is silent. every time she tries to focus upon one of them, her vision starts to swim.
they are taunting her.
it's been a long time since they've answered any of her prayers. she had nearly forgotten how cruel the stars can be. how naive that had been. the freshkill pile grows slimmer and slimmer, leafbare chill seeping its way into their bones. every kindness shadowclan is given is soon taken away.
they look at ashenfall, lying outside the nursery, and their chest aches. their parents will not be here to see their grandkits. the children will know the cruelty of the world young, and she cannot decide if that is a kindness or not.
what a terrible fate that has been thrust upon her. she is ambassador to rot, vessel of uncaring gods. it's not fair. it's not fair and she can hardly take it any more. she presses her body against applejaw's corpse and red smears across her pelt. a thousand apologies cling to her tongue like sweet sap. "i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm -
fine, yes." her voice is light and pleasant. refined.
starlight glitters in refraction, illuminating the bleached-bone locks of her fur. pallid eyes glint glassy with the same distant glow, stare through the warrior who speaks to her and into something beyond. she cannot quite make out their face, cannot remember what it is she was doing before they addressed her. it doesn't matter, she knows.
"what was it you needed, again...?" she smiles, wane as the moon above.
she continues on. she does not have a choice.
she is so very tired.
she trudges towards the graveyard before the earth can swallow her whole. it is hungry, she knows. it has tasted the blood of her kin and longs for more. a gaping maw, never to be sated. her lip curls.
desperate claws tear, tear, tear at every weed. clumps of gravedirt come loose with each motion, coating her paws in soil and rot. she's there, lying beneath the earth, mud choking her lungs and clinging to the bloodstained mats of her fur. they couldn't get it all off; even with lavender woven into her fur, applejaw still looked like a corpse. her throat, her throat - torn open, a murder, someone out to get them. out to get the best of them, smogstar and his mirror in ambition.
they'll all die sooner or later, a row of graves for every single member of her family, a cluster of little stones for ashenfall's unborn kits.
applejaw is down there. her claws sink into the soil. it should have been them. moons ago, moons ago - she's operating on borrowed time. the stars' mercy far too cruel to be called such. take me with you, please -
she shuts her eyes tightly, lets her exhausted body fall to the soft earth. she imagines the press of her sister's body against hers, the two of them side by side.
(buried alive, buried alive, buried alive)
(a better fate than whatever this is, pretending her heart still beats)
her breaths come gasping, choked. she can almost hear it - the sluggish beating of applejaw's heart, the scrabbling of her claws against the earth. reaching for them. she can smell the lavender, the iron, the rot. her eyes shoot open and she's in a field of flowers again.
lavender, this time.
lavender lavender lavender as far as the eye can see.
she grasps a stem in her teeth and tears.
blood spills from the soil as the roots come free. they dig their claws into the wound, let them tear through rotten and earthen flesh. the gash grows wider with every score of their claws. the flowers scream in a voice made of wind and dancing petals. it's cacophanous. she wants it quiet.
she digs and she digs until the white of her paws grows red.
she digs until she feels the beating of a heart beneath her paws.
her claws sink deep into it.
a choked sob tears its way from her throat as she looks up to the stars.
she is alone. the marsh is quiet and judging. "am i not... am i not good enough for you...?" she gasps out between ragged breaths. bonebrittle claws tear fitfully at the swamp grass. "was... was he not...?" their voice trembles like petals in the wind, teetering always upon the edge of tearing away. "why won't you answer me?" she demands in a snarl, staring down the faceless council, judging and still. stars dance in their hazy pelts.
she cannot tell if her parents are among them, if her sister's cold gaze rests upon her.
starclan is silent. every time she tries to focus upon one of them, her vision starts to swim.
they are taunting her.
it's been a long time since they've answered any of her prayers. she had nearly forgotten how cruel the stars can be. how naive that had been. the freshkill pile grows slimmer and slimmer, leafbare chill seeping its way into their bones. every kindness shadowclan is given is soon taken away.
they look at ashenfall, lying outside the nursery, and their chest aches. their parents will not be here to see their grandkits. the children will know the cruelty of the world young, and she cannot decide if that is a kindness or not.
what a terrible fate that has been thrust upon her. she is ambassador to rot, vessel of uncaring gods. it's not fair. it's not fair and she can hardly take it any more. she presses her body against applejaw's corpse and red smears across her pelt. a thousand apologies cling to her tongue like sweet sap. "i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm -
fine, yes." her voice is light and pleasant. refined.
starlight glitters in refraction, illuminating the bleached-bone locks of her fur. pallid eyes glint glassy with the same distant glow, stare through the warrior who speaks to her and into something beyond. she cannot quite make out their face, cannot remember what it is she was doing before they addressed her. it doesn't matter, she knows.
"what was it you needed, again...?" she smiles, wane as the moon above.
she continues on. she does not have a choice.
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SWANSONG ☾ she / they, warrior of shadowclan, eighteen moons.
★ a pale, silky-furred cream tabby with droopy blue eyes.
★ dreamy and detached, known for her perpetual sleepiness.
★halfshadex smogstar, littermate toapplejaw, garlicheart, & ashenfall.
★ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
★ penned by SATURNID ↛ saturnids on discord, feel free to dm for plots.