her ladder to the stars

by inkteardrops

She was once innocent, perfect and whole as he showered her with kisses on the lake's shore. But now, she's weary, broken and her skin's disfigured with the self-inflicted marks of a knife's embrace and she walks into the icy depths and the wind whispers to her that every step brings them closer together again. A story of moving on, as told by a girl who has lost far too much.

A/N: Written for bring me the sun's Dabble in a Drabble competition. I own nothing and the lyrics in italics belong to Mumford and Sons.

WARNING: Mentions depression, self-harm and suicide. Do not read if uncomfortable.

Prompt: 'Timshel' by Mumford and Sons

Words: 563

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(i want to escape this world)

Cold is the water

It freezes your already cold mind

Already cold, cold mind

Icy hands slap against her legs as she walks deeper and deeper into the depths of the freezing water. Every ripple on the previously glassy surface is like a tiny dagger stabbing at her fragile, weary, broken body but she doesn't mind the pain – it's just another reminder that she's alive and that she can feel but he can't.

On the lake's shoreline, her discarded robe and wand lie in a heap like the happiness she shrugged off so long ago.

She continues into the icy depths and her mind settles on the torn piece of parchment folded on top of her robe. Written on its yellowing surface in elegant script are two simple words.

For Cedric.

xxxx

(so many escape routes)

And you have your choices

And these are what make man great

His ladder to the stars

Her hands trace the scars etched into her once perfect skin, she recalls the feeling of icy, unforgiving water filling her lungs and she thinks of the bitter taste of poison on her lips.

And suddenly, the tears begin to fall because it's unfair. A smooth blade, a muttered spell, a vial of poison, there are so many ways to die. The tears begin to fall because she has so many choices; she gets to choose her pathway to heaven, her ladder to the stars, how she dies but he didn't. He had no choice in the matter – a murmured curse and a bout of green light and he ceased to exist, just like that.

And the tears drip down on to her body and the flow across the marred, ruined surface of her skin, across the marks of a blade's embrace because it's just not fair.

xxxx

(wounds heal, eventually)

And you are the mother

The mother of your baby child

The one to whom you gave life

She stares down at her one year old son, nestled in her arms. People tell her that he's perfect, and she supposes that he is beautiful, with his black hair and pale blue eyes. And she loves him, she does, no one can deny that because he's her son and she breathed life to him but she can't help the small voice at the back of her mind that whispers that they're wrong and that her son isn't quite perfect because those pale blue eyes staring back up at her should be silvery grey.

And she places her son in his cot and she goes to her bedroom and she stands in front of her mirror. She inspects every self-inflicted disfigurement of her skin, every kiss showered upon her by a smooth, deceiving blade and every scar that blood once flowed from but now has no feeling at all. And it helps because she realises that all things cease to hurt eventually and that's okay.

So, she leaves the bedroom and with it she leaves her sadness and her guilt and she goes and fetches her son and she realises that now, she can live again.

She's never completely better but whenever she feels as though she might relapse, she rubs the scar that encircles her wrist and it's strangely comforting because it's a reminder that everything can heal eventually.

(go and live your life again)