a/n: Hey y'all. I do not own pokemon. And thanks for reading.
.
.
.
.
vertebral column
She guards/she haunts the stairs.
Plumy clouds hang low, drift free, morphing and floating—forever. Their cries of laughter echo in her ears, unbeknownst to the outside haze. Guilty pleasure twists their lovely faces, then becomes ecstasy, launching back and forth as a rubber band.
In a moment the clouds deflate/drain of their heavy violet.
She watches from her gilded-crystal perch. The steps (that she would never cross) stretch to her right. From where she crouches, the ghosts are just as beautiful, just as illuminant as they ever were—perhaps even more so—for it seems this place magnifies both their beauty and their carefree presence.
But in the next moment, her soul enrages with anger. She screams, the noise having no effect on the ghosts' perpetual smiles, no effect on the psychics and trainers and caretakers and grave robbers. It is the scream that flies out into torn, empty nets.
A look of terror fills a face/too scared.
She refuses to be caught by humans who can see her. Their inventions and whatnot can penetrate her carefully crafted mask of fear, can see the real thing: a shuddering, scared-out-of-my-mind marowak who lost her bone as well as her mind.
Those who do not have a scope will toss out their pokemon in vain, for trainer cannot see and their pokemon cannot cope with the fear (the terrible terror) her masquerade is meant to gather and fling.
No matter what, she cannot let them reach the seventh floor.
Memory is blurry/maybe she should leave.
The temptation is sweet and puckers longing, but she cannot. She must keep watch over her child, who wanders around the graves, searching for his dead mother. Alas, he cannot see her. His poachers are haunted with her thousand souls, handily tossing their beds in the dead of night.
She remembers the steaming tunnel, the wails of her son behind her, and then the light down there. All she had to do was step towards it, reach towards it, and she could travel to wherever the dead go. But eternal peace isn't enough. She sidestepped the glow and returned!
Triumph is lonely with no one to share it with/splits into two and vanishes.
Her heart is broken into seven pieces. Six are for her son, the last is for her. She watches one moment/year later as he belatedly tries to evolve, but fails. With age suffocating him, he wears down into brown little stubs, calling for his mother, but dies.
The chimes plastered to the stone ceiling clink faintly.
She hopes that she wakes up from this terrible dream, or dies again very quickly.
But neither of those things happens. And now in a tower somewhere, in a floor somewhere, in a staircase somewhere, a marowak is unable to fly away…
...because her soul is trapped in the middle.
—