Fever Dream pv

mentions: @evpraksiya vinogradova	date: 12/10/2024
english | thoughts	outfit: casual
ooc notes:	abilities sixth sense
word count : 432	actions: boop

Wrathful, swift pencil strokes were started to draw the shape of a weirdly shaped moon, as if it was leaking silver fluid toward the earth. Rising flowers in its wake. It felt oddly familiar, that powerless feeling, watching yourself leak from every part but still managing to shine through. Hey, if even your blood had its uses, who were you to complain, right ? She was growing tired. Tired, tired of pretending everything was fine during the day when she had woken up the night before, innerly screaming, panting. Tired of pretending the monsters of her dreams didn't follow her down here. Tired.

Her slender fingers closing her notebook, hoovering over the rough, used cover, she sighed. A faint brushing sound suddenly reminded her of the phantom noise she had heard earlier. She raised her eyes towards the intruder, and midnight ocean crashed into cerulean green.

The girl's eyes were the first thing she noticed, not because of their striking color, but because of the woven messages they were carrying, hidden by the rest of her body. She was delicate, fragile, faint. Like an ancient piece of art fingers are afraid to touch, afraid to ruin. Was she even real ? Or another hallucination ? If it was a nightmare, then it just took the appearance of a dream. Or rather, this girl embodied the idea of what Elena called dreams. The urge to add her to her collection was so strong she almost opened her notebook and started drawing right away, but something stopped her.

Pain. Intense, hidden, devastating pain. It was a physical pain, or emotional. She didn't even know how to describe it. Like you're rotting from the inside, watching yourself slowly crumble into pieces, without being able to stop it. Feeling every inch of yourself cripple, turn to dust but not being able to do anything about it. And yet she held her head high, her posture straight. But the eyes, they never lie. And hers were no exception. This girl was an open wound, and left a bloodied trail behind her, smudged on her delicate fingers, tainting everything she graced with her touch.

And yet.

And yet despite the bitter aftertaste that lingered when Elena looked at her, despite her every senses telling her to hide, there was a sweetness to her being she could not help but be drawn to. An unspoken promise, a silent recognition. As if this otherworldly creature had seeked her through centuries and universes, and had finally found her. The blonde girl looked up, and without a word made room next to her. An invitation.

xxxxxxxx𝕾tars also die.

Celestial titans composed of hydrogen and helium, luminous spheroid of plasma more than thousands of years away from the planet known of Earth have died when the beings on the earth and blue planet were still single prokaryotic cells. Burning themselves out in haunting implosions that the universe held silent vigil for as the last traces of their lives would travel through the void and into spaces still unknown. The remains of those heavenly bodies still here even when their origin had long ago deceased.

And so, the light that the stars used to give off became all people would know of the stars themself.

(There was something to be said about how children (potential potential potential) looked up to a sky full of corpses and found dreams in their remains.)

Evpraksiya used to be one of those children long ago. Father had been the astronomy aficionado in the family, he took to it in his youth with an ardor that contrasted harshly with his stoic personality and the youngest Vinogradova would think that if not for Mother, he would have departed long ago to join the stars he cherished so much.

But for all his usual cold demeanor, there were moments when he’d silently invite her to scry the sky with her. It was never an outwardly spoken invitation, always conveyed in tilts of his head in askance and glances that shared curiosity. In exchange, Evpraksiya never spoke either. The silence had been a sacred, fragile thing then between them, in the middle of the night when most everyone was asleep. Far too sacred for the girl to risk fracturing by saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.

So Evpraksiya stayed silent, smiled sweetly at Father, and neatly sat beside him, tucking her legs beneath herself and staring at her father who’d bear holes into the sky with his eyes and magic alone, divining truths and futures from a graveyard of luminary cadavers.

Now, the same girl was walking towards the warm stranger before she consciously processed what she was doing. Tucking her legs neatly beneath her again with a grace that spoke to a lifetime of training and etiquette and, sitting next to the girl whom invited her to sit without words made the cold granite beneath her feel like she was back in her beloved music room.

And so the lost child stared out into the sky, impassively (lies, lies, always hiding behind layers of lies), searching asking for a fraction of what her father would have been able to divine. Unaware of crystalline tears forming in her eyes, the pains and aches in her body, or the reality that made the gap between herself and her sporadic dreams insurmountable, beautiful, and impossible all the same.

mentions: @evpraksiya vinogradova	date: 12/10/2024
english | thoughts	outfit: casual
ooc notes:	abilities sixth sense
word count : 596	actions: boop

Some silences holds deeper meaning than thousands of words every could. It currently felt immensely important not to break that silence, that understanding between two lost souls. Pain radiated from the spectral girl, but it wasn't the kind that Elena was used to.

She was used to excruciating pain, the kind where you feel your body die a thousand times, the kind that deprives you of words, where your only option is to scream. She felt that when her mother learned her father's death. Without words, Elena felt washed away by that tide of grief, she couldn't even step near her mother without sinking to her knees. That pain never truly left, you could always feel it lingering around the empty void left inside your heart.

She was used to silent suffering, the muffled type. One hid away by clouds, muted like you close a book. It's there, lingering at the corners of your mind, but you manage to ignore it. That doesn't make it less real. Her father was the greatest example. Calm, peaceful pain. Pain of not being loved by the one that brought him to life. Pain of hating them.

Those pains, the blonde girl experienced them a lot, coupled with other variations. It was something she could not help but do - absorb, take, mold herself into what the person facing her was experiencing, wear their own skin to try and make them love it. It was a draining process, yet it had proven its use, and if she could take the pain of everyone who ever walked this earth and bear it for them, she would. She already did, in a way

Her own pain was quiet, thought not like her father. Her pain was stuck in her throat, barbed wires wrapped around, preventing her from every opening up. Her pain made her tears silent, as she screamed, clutching her chest. But the sound never left her heart. Screaming silently, in the darkness of the night. Screaming to the moon. During the day it felt as if it wasn't here. As if nothing happened. It was harder to pretend at night.

But this porcelain doll's pain was different. Tragic. Elegant. Held back. It spread slowly, like a fragrance, slowly twisting around Elena. It touched her, deeper than she thought. She had something ethereal about her, something that made her look like she just stepped out of a dream. A fairy with broken wings, mended with whatever it is she could find to temporarily ease the pain. A strange fairy, with a strange vision of fairy-tales, carrying the beauty of a fallen angel. A falling angel.

And the morningstar sat next to her, tucking her legs beneath her, soft and polite. Elena watched her, in transe. There was absolutely no way that girl was human. It was a dream. She belonged in a dream. Crystal drops hit the ground, silver liquid leaking from the moon like in her earlier sketch. The fairy was crying. It was so pure, so out of this world Elena could do nothing but watch. She could not utter a world, otherwise she would wake up. And she didn't want to. It was the nicest dream she had in a while.

She suddenly felt the urge to capture it before it flew away, gently grabbing her notebook, she opened it to a new page. This collection was for all the things that reminded her dreams could become reality. And this girl, this fairy, was on the very edge between lies and truth. With gentle strokes, Elena started sketching.

xxxxxxxx𝕾vpraksiya’s gaze lingered on the stars, each one a distant, untouchable light that once burned with the same brightness that now felt trapped inside her. She’d always felt a strange kinship with those long-dead beacons. Her father had once explained how they glowed across time, ancient and unknowable, yet still shining as if to defy the ages since their deaths. She’d held onto that thought, cherishing it, feeling that perhaps she, too, was a fragment of something old and enduring. A legacy preserved through time, the end result of years of prestige and carefully selected training and a product. Nothing else but a shiny perfect product off the shelves in the infinite cosmos.

And- and what was wrong with that? A product was wanted, was loved and adored. A product did it's designated function and then was disposed of when it was no long useful as all things should.

But as she drifted back to the present, (heart, lungs, liver, brain, heart lungs, liver, brain, heart-) her reverie was interrupted by the gentle, rhythmic scratch of pencil on paper. It was a sound both soft and precise, in tune with her slow heartbeats, quiet. steady, and grounding against the silence. She turned her head slowly, joints stiff with disuse, reluctant to leave her world of memory, and found herself captivated by (moonchild's) the blonde's quiet focus. The other girl’s notebook lay open, her hand moving gracefully, capturing each line and shadow with careful reverence. It was strange, watching someone else work so intently to capture something beyond words. It felt... personal. Sacred even, if she was more religiously inclined.

Evpraksiya shifted slowly, not wanting to startle her, but a sense of... something grew within her chest, quiet and hesitant. As her eyes traced the lines of Elena’s drawing, something tightened in her chest. Here was someone not bound by rules or appearances, someone able to capture meaning with only paper and pencil, able to preserve a moment simply because it held beauty. That. That was new. Separate perhaps, from her life where everything had its meaning and every decision had a consequence.

Her thoughts flowed, mingling with the present, filling her with a strange desire to be a part of this quiet dream. The youngest Vinogradova distinctly ignored her own secrets, buried under layers of etiquette burned into her and precision. Of the times she’d wanted to leave notes herself for no reason other than to say 'she was here. she was alive. she was alive.'.

Without thinking, Evpraksiya leaned forward slightly, eyes lingering on the half-finished sketch. The impulse to speak formed slowly, like rain gathering on the edge of a leaf, tentative and delicate.

❝That is a beautiful sketchbook,❞ she asked, her voice, usually honeyed cracking halfway in her sentence from disuse. The words hung between them, and Evpraksiya felt as though she were intruding on something rare. She wasn’t sure why her question had come out so softly, but there was a weight to it, a kind of delicate reverence. ❝Although— from the current subject, I'd question if I have a new admirer.❞ She added, clearly teasing.

mentions: @evpraksiya vinogradova	date: 12/10/2024
english | thoughts	outfit: casual
ooc notes:	abilities sixth sense
word count : 692	actions: boop

Beautiful things don't ask for attention.

Although not being able to remember when and where she heard that quote, the young girl lived by it every time she took out the dark blue notebook. Little nothings scattered its pages, stolen moments - a firefly landing on a leaf, rain slowly pouring down a window, the smoke of a hot beverage rising on a cold winter day. Elena craved those simple moments, where beauty didn't need any words to exist. Like when a morningstar with broken wings chose to appear on earth for you, mere mortal. If it was a dream, she never wanted to wake up.

Slightly altering the drawing, the blonde haired girl added ethereal wings to the girl, and made her tears shine, illuminating her porcelain face. Choosing not to add the cracks she saw in the girl's facade, she looked up and was surprised to see she had now a curious watcher. Her posture reminded Elena of a cat, slightly approaching, curious yet wary. Shifting her focus back to the page, the young girl started to smudge some of it, adding Imperfections at small places. Cracks crawling up the neck, strands of hair not perfectly fallen, crumpled silk messing the dress. Those light touches suddenly made the fairy look more human. After all, aren't imperfections what makes us who we are ?

She finally lifted her gaze from the page, her blue eyes softening as she met striking green crystals. There was something vulnerable in the way she looked at her sketchbook, as if she was leaning out over some invisible edge, stepping foot in places she'd never thought existed. I see you, that's what the ravenclaw wanted to say. All of you. She saw the pain lingering behind the skin, dripping from the cracks of this perfectly played mask. The light, almost feathered voice of her new muse surprised her, as she didn't think anyone would dare break this moment's peace - the way it broke mid-sentence confirmed her doubts.

"An admirer ?" Elena's voice was calm and serene, like crashing waves under a full moon. She tilted her head, a cascade of blonde haired shimmering in various shades of gold and honey falling over her shoulder. "I suppose you could call it this way. But it's not you I'm admiring- not in the way you think." Absently running her pencil on the page, she continued adding various touches to the sketch. After a moment, she turned it slightly, allowing her to fully look. There were no words to describe what Elena tried to sketch. A broken fairy, shedding crystal tears ? A human, trapped inside a dolls cage, desperately trying to get out ? A rotting corpse, unalive, puppet animated only because it's supposed to be living ? Or a little girl, terrified and lost, hiding behind all of those faces ?

"It's strange," the blonde haired girl added, gaze becoming distant, thoughtful, "but sometimes I think drawing someone is like... catching a glimpse of them they don't even see in themselves." She let the words hang in the air, curling like smoke around the two girls. Not necessarily needing a response, but inviting to confession. "I thought maybe you'd like to see that side of you. Even for a moment." For if the girl facing her held more to the ghost than to the living being, her drawing was undisputably beating, almost ready to take life.

Elena's navy eyes flickered down to her notebook, fingers gently brushing over the faint pencil lines. "It's a part of you, after all," she murmured. "One that deserves to be seen." She wondered how her own person was perceived. She tried, several times, to draw herself - only to result in burying her face in heavy, black strokes and growing antlers. Blinking those thoughts away - she could not afford to let her mask slip, not now, not in front of someone - she leaned back, staring at the moonlight. She was the observer, the caretaker. Carefully collecting broken pieces, trying to put them back together. Trying to fix herself by fixing others.

To be seen...