FROM HER ASHES³ ━━ Bellamy Blake

𝐗𝐈𝐈𝐈: Twilight of the Apprentice

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TWILIGHT
OF THE
APPRENTICE

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          THERE ARE PASTS inside of Lyra that she has never buried properly. She rips herself to shreds at night and by dawn, the scarred, bleeding pieces are crudely stitched back together.

     Once upon a time, there was a scream of sorrow inside of her that never quite came out.

     Her skin is tainted by wasted days. Her youth was long stolen by aching bones. Sometimes she still thinks she is too young to have these scars. She is lionhearted, but her hands still shake, her voice has never been quite loud enough. Even now.

     And she is at war with herself.

     Caught between what she truly is and what she is supposed to be.

     Etching her own face upon her own wicked flesh. She is her own devastating god. No one ever ruined Lyra Jupiter. Lyra Jupiter ruined herself. Haunted by memories. Dead things destroying a dying thing.

     Love has turned on her and she is it's liar.

     All that she is left with is an impossible choice.

     Bellamy or Octavia.

     Octavia or Bellamy.

Once upon a time, she loved Bellamy Blake.

     Gentle hands haloed her on warm September nights. Thousands of stars had fallen beneath her, galaxies collapsed out from underneath of her, and the universe tied them together in sweet synchrony that night they spent together in the butterfly field. Yet even before then, they'd burned beautifully together.

     Bellamy Blake had stormed the ground battered and broken by life on the Ark, wearing pain like a second skin, drenched in the ghosts of his past. Incendiary hell had burned him from the inside out as vengeance became his only dream. A walking catastrophe. All reckless and sharp as knives. Bleeding rage from still-festering wounds he'd earned in space, seeping into the calamity-corrupted dirt. For so long, the only two people he'd ever cared about were himself and his sister. It was his love for Octavia that had made Lyra first look at him the same way she looked at the golden sunbeams that would filter through the treetops. On the Ark, no one had given a damn about them, and so why would he give a damn about the Ark? He wore a bloodstained crown and gave no answers; most of the hundred never questioned him.

     And then they'd become soldiers. Children, yet soldiers all the same. Veterans before they were out of their teenage years. They fought blistering battles beneath that beautiful blue sky and they'd had to work together. Their innocence was stolen, they were hardened, and none of them were quite the same after their first few days in earth. Corrupted by her cruelties. Nightmares leaking into their souls. There was nothing more intimate in their lives than the sins they committed. Their bodies were rotting from the inside out. They were children and they were abandoned, left to fight a war all by themselves.