𐌱𐍁𐍂𐍀 the witch

Events. - pt. 7 "Foyer Full of Secrets"

About part six:

15.0K words

Mentions: melancholy, bourgeois life, retrospection, Greek mythology, deep atmosphere descriptions, cabaret atmosphere, card games, hints, unexpected company, false assumptions (and accusations), unexpected show, secret messages, heartbreak, hate, love, darkness, confusion, letter, time

Warnings: arrogance, gambling, hypocrisy, alcohol, (mind) manipulation, smoking, school pressure, detailed description of: (vomit; self-hurting; organs), stalking

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Lips parted hesistantly, but we were both using the chance to breathe in the air that the other had just exhaled, in an attempt to get all of it. With a soft smile on my lips, I proceeded to place more, tiny kisses, loving kisses, venerating kisses onto his skin, trailing the paths my fingers had drawn just before across his cheek, to his ear and down the revealed bit of his neck that was not covered by this neatly bound cravat.

- We should think about going back, hm? It's getting dark.. and your lady still needs to get ready for.. 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘯.

There was a pause in between those last few words. A small, imperceptible pause, however, quite essential.. 𝗙𝗼𝗿 𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗱. 𝗡𝗼, 𝗦𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘂𝘀 𝗦𝗻𝗮𝗽𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗱, 𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝘃𝗲𝗻𝗲𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱.. and, even though fully belonging to him with every part of my being, I could feel the poignant truth that he, alas, could never be mine entirely. Even though I could not know, a silent understanding lingered, whispered to me only by the tender exchange of those few, fleeting kisses.

[ 𝗺𝗲 ]

Their passionate kisses were sealed in that place at that time. The clear sky soon darkened, early evening falling upon all of them who lived under that same sky. Under one sky. We all live under one sky.

Nested thick as a smoke fog, framed in the dark blue color which covered the whole land. So deep a blue that it irritated the eye. A weeping willow had settled down near the lake a long time ago, which had sunk into the monotony of its existence. Her burden was heavy, and her branches always wept downward. She never saw the sky in its greatest beauty, she was used to looking at the wet soil and the dying flowers before her. Something far from the future, for to her the sky above was the future, and the present was down on earth, where, alas, every day... every day flowers died and new ones were born in their places, and the grass now rotted, then bloomed.

Iva. That was her name. In Bulgarian, the name "Iva" means weeping willow and is one of the most beautiful names. Melodic, short, gentle...

The willow now was sinking into an even deeper sadness as it was surrounded by an uncertain blue. She didn't trust that dark blue, especially when the fog was suffocating her from all sides. She wept, but she wept alone... They were all in the castle, which rose majestically before her, and she knew that somewhere there were beautiful things, but alas, she had never seen the castle, and she would never see it either.

Iva didn't look like just a loner, she looked like a sad and scary huge tree slowly aging its days alone. Iva did not know beauty, at least not in its fullest potential. And did she know that she herself was a beauty? How alive she was and how alive she didn't feel...