Beautiful Defaults

Beautiful Creatures

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Through Birth We Are New
With life we are bound to death
Life is a slow death

True life is dying
The beginning of  all ends
You can't escape life
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What beautiful creatures they were. Designs of influence and emotion. Despite each obstacle, they would fight to prevail. Sometimes for the better, other times for the worse. It was all an illusion of perception of positioning that lead you to believe which was what and the things you believed.

But sometimes you had to give up.

Sometimes fighting was too much to handle, and the last hug that grasped you would be from the consuming darkness of what they called void, for lack of better words.

Peony lay on a stiff bed, frigid yet unbearably warm in whatever state the letumosis had decided to leave her in. Her vision was dark and clouded, like the natural state of the universe before the stars and moons had come together to create and reflect the light that so many turned their faces towards to glimpse the slightest shine of beauty. Barely aware of her own limbs as she filled her mind with thoughts of movement, but she felt much too weak to do that, and her hearing was smothered like a candle without the ever needed presence of air.

What she heard were small and loud voices filled with pleas, whispers, yelling? Was it Cinder? It was hard to tell, but it only sounded like one voice. One lost and broken voice that reflected exactly what emotion had pressed them out.

If Cinder was here, why wasn't her mother or Pearl here as well? Was she already dead to them? Had they already forgotten? It still didn't make sense that Cinder was immune. Was her consciousness all that mattered to them? A simple creation made to last for a short time so that it could be easily forgotten and used as an empathy card to those that came across them...

Peony could feel a soft amount of pressure on her now. A touch? Was it still Cinder? It went away too fast. The touch had felt good this time, but now she could feel nothing, see nothing, hear nothing. Peony was left to the feeding darkness that divided her thoughts from what was once reality. Was she finally dying? She had felt like it before, but this was peaceful. This was kind. The struggle of breathing wasn't a problem, she couldn't remember how, and it didn't hurt like before.

What strange creatures they were.

Surviving in their own distinct ways, relying on the natural instinct inside of them as they chased after ambitions and fantasies. She did not catch up to hers, but it didn't bother her now. She could find something, but not now.

She was too tired.

It was calming.

The loud thump of her heart was quiet... nonexistent. The annoyance of high pitched ringing that had once spun around her ears had gone quiet as well. But she was still thinking.

It was tiring, but she still had thoughts left, and if it was all she had, she would think them, because saying them was too much, and some things were meant to be between your mind and body. Secrets for your own dramatic flares.

She was a beautiful creature. They were all the same. Everyone had tilts and indents and breath and movement. Thoughts and beauty and fear and sorrow. Happiness, and peace, and stress, and silence. Machines made to live, but couldn't figure out how to die without struggling to live again. Almost.

It was such a strange feeling.

There were not enough words to describe it, and death no longer seemed like an appropriate word for death. It was more. She could probably make a word to describe it. A word that meant both nothing and everything at once.

But now, she did not care.

It would be ok.

It would be different now. Difference was ok. Acceptance was ok.

Maybe something would happen after her thoughts were done, or maybe they stayed complete. A publishing of silence.

The peace in a lifetime of awareness.

It was warm and kind and welcoming.