Lacexleaves - New Beginnings

Literary history that happened on 8 July

Limerence is a word i have been looking for for a long time.

As punishment for his sins, a human is sentenced to battle endlessly against hordes of demons with nothing but a knife. Satan’s court laughs at him for a few thousand years… until he starts winning the battles. Then they start screaming in terror.

The invisible ropes of twilight cling gently to the new dawn, the gates of heaven are barred. “Exile is sweet”, uttered the wind. “For whom?” “Everybody”, she answers with a smile. “Liberty”, she mused, “what is it…?”Hesitation. Tentative reply. “Freedom to call your spirit your own.” “And how is it to be obtained?” Silence. “ Answer me young woman, how is one to go about purchasing liberty?” Murmurs. “I do not think you can.”Wonder. “Nature”, she suddenly said, “The answer to be found in nature, is it not?” Uncertainty. “Perhaps” “Are fetters to be hailed?”, she presses. Quick answer. “No” Laughter. “Break them then” Perplexed. “You despise your chains, yet revere them. What is it that you want child?”, She teasingly asks, wounding her slender fingers around a flyaway rose. Exclaims in despair, “I don’t know.” Laughter again. “Nobody really does I suppose”, she said, more to herself than to anybody else. “Why do you seek freedom?” “Liberation of the mind and soul is the object of life.” “Very well,” she said, “Liberty you seek and Liberty you shall have”. And thus cast the ascending sun it’s first rays on the mischievous interrogator and the exiled one.

drops this post on ur dash like i am a cat bringing u a dead bird

good afternoon to the chill people with adhd, the people wearing hoodies, the girls who are eating their feelings, infj’s, enfp’s, and intp’s, to the people who eat dessert before dinner, marvel fans, dark academics, poets, writers, artists, enneagrams 3, 4, 5 and 2′s, the gentle boys, the jocks, nerds, princesses, weirdos, and outcasts, people who sleep with socks on, the people who can eat a whole bag of chips in one sitting, the people currently cold, chewing gum, or sad, to the people who like cheerios, oreos, or eggs, those who are battling anxiety, depression, if you’re supposed to be doing homework, if you are taking a bath, or eating cheese, i hope you all have a wonderful day

oh and please reblog to add more

the soft courage and freedom that darkness brings

“Is it better to be the reed in the spokes of a battle wheel which splinters the chariot of hope, or to be the reed of hope tugging away at the clench of the unrelenting mast of the sunken ship, lost to the world and leave the world to lose? Perhaps it finer to be the reed from which floats the soft and treacherous  note of love, with the feathered footfall of the madman or the angel, and leave it to the mania of insanity to find out which.”

Behind the portraits

It was afternoon, a dark, wet afternoon. And I was sitting at the foot of the large oak wood bed, glaring at Marie Antoinette.

“Let them eat cake”

I glared more.

“I was a queen, and you took away my crown; a wife, and you killed my husband; a mother, and you deprived me of my children. My blood alone remains: take it, but do not make me suffer long.”

I sighed and turned to Sappho, as if to ask her to help me in my predicament. But Sappho wouldn’t speak, she never did. My gaze shifted to the fluttering white curtains which veiled a painting of the Bal des ardents, illuminated by the old fashioned candles on the mantle piece. My frown returned as my eyes fixated themselves on the crockery in the background.

“When?” I questioned.

“January 28, 1398.”

“Joan, the duchess …?”

“The duchess de berri.”

“D’orleans…1407, isn’t it?”

It nodded.

“How?”

“Assasinated.”

“For the throne of the mad king.” I murmured and sank my head into my knees. After a few moments, I threw up my head and exclaimed, “I cannot go on like this anymore, I live as in a nightmare! Freedom I want and Freedom I shall have!”.

“Happiness and freedom begin with a clear understanding of one principle: some things are within our control, and some things are not” The thing quoted.

Despair seized me; I let out a half wild, inarticulate cry and buried my head in my arms as tears drenched the sheaf of parchment in my lap. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw the thing stare at me coldly. “Do you blame me?” I demanded. “Do you think me weak to shed tears like this?” It pursed up its dried, hag like mouth. “Tell me, Do you hold me responsible for all of this?”, I clenched its wrist and asked. It silently shook its head. “No”. I loosened my hold and let go as it gave me a look full of reproach. It shook its head again, “No, I do not place the blame entirely on anyone in this matter, but thou must know that thou hath not played an unimportant part in bringing this about.” “Oh, I know! I know! And that just makes my burden a hundred times more heavier to bear.” I said, as the picture of Andromeda’s anguished face as she watched Cetus ravage the coast of Aethiopia flashed across my eyes.

“Was she very beautiful?” My voice sounded wistful.

“Who?”

“Her. The daughter of Cepheus and Cassiopeia.”

“Yes.” The thing’s eyes lost focus. “Very.” It said.

I rolled the parchments and placed them in a small brass trunk underneath my bed. Marie Antoinette’s picture slipped inside too, but I was past caring.

“Why didn’t hope leave when it could have?” I enquired.

“Zeus willed it.”

“Didn’t Elpis want to leave?”

“Perhaps.”

“I am sure that the only reason the sprite stayed was because pandora shut the jar before it could escape. I wish it had.”

The thing shrugged.

“When do thy leave?”, It asked.

“Midnight.” I replied, trying not to let a suppressed paroxysm of sobs get the better of me.

Night fell, I lingered near Henry V’s portrait, fiddling with the tapestry. I looked out the window and saw the moon emerge from the shadow of a black cloud and throw light upon the vase of white roses upon the windowsill. “The moon looks like a careworn old face.” I remarked, more to myself than anyone else.

I looked about the room with a strange wistfulness as I drew the sheets close. Something seemed to warn me. “But about what?” I wondered. I was woken up at midnight by the thing knocking over the rose vase. “Is it time?” I asked, silently praying that it was not. It nodded. And then there I stood, beneath the elm tree and among the shadows.

Little did I know, that it was the last time I would set eyes upon the elm. I stepped inside the quaint carriage, huddling my trunk closer to me. I felt the chilly wind of the night nip my face. We had not made it ten feet across the old wooden bridge over the chasm, when I heard a sickening creak and felt the bridge collapse under us. The ropes had given way. The carriage toppled over, smashing my trunk open and spilling all of its contents. I plunged into the abyss along with the vehicle. Feeling that I was about to die, I frantically tried to hold onto something before we hit the ground. And what should be the thing my eyes finally beheld at the end of my life but the face of … Marie Antoinette?