stl: foo fighters, 'let it die'


There was a time, when she spent her nights restlessly tossing and turning next him, that he would scatter gentle kisses along her body. On nights such as this, he would whisper his adoration of her strong body, caressing the defined muscles of her calves, the taut skin of her belly, his able fingers moving deftly. These nights, she fell in love with him over and over again. These nights, he claimed her with his teeth. These nights, she wrote their love story on his back in glaring, gaping wounds.

Those nights were so long ago, buried black and white in ash and ember.

He had told her it was for the best. He had told her there was no other way, it had to be. She stood there shaking in the fading hours of the day, a soft rain soaking her through to the bone, as he walked away. All of her life, she believed the fairytales told to her in the quiet minutes before sleep, believed in soulmates and destiny. The moment she laid eyes on him, she was love-struck and relentless in her devotion-- there was nothing that he could ask of her that she would not give, she would not do. For so long, he had given her all of himself; she was in his head, in his heart, in his mouth.

'Love...'

What a cruel, hedonistic bitch that is. She gathered thick, wet sediment from the riverbank and swiped her hand across her face; the mud formed crude streaks of warpaint. What she wouldn't give to feel wings sprout from her back, tear the skin and take flight. What she wouldn't give to slither into the water, her legs melting into a fin, swim into the bottom of the ocean and never return. She flung another handful of mud across the river, another and another until she was hurling rocks, miniature boulders, her sobs catching in her throat. She lay down, the pitiful wreck that she had become, praying to Gaea, to Tellus, to Terra to open her greedy mouth and swallow her whole.

The memories and the pain had become that unbearable.

But, she was not so far gone she would take her own life.

No, no, he wouldn't approve of that.

Dying a warrior, dying the stubborn prat she was in battle, he would accept.

She stood knowing the legend of their love affair would haunt him, knowing she could no longer hold the weight of it on her own shoulders.

She hoped he would forgive her of her trespasses.