These Paper Pages

Hiraeth

Arlo is her home. In the glacier planes of his blue eyes, in the curls of soft yellow hair which she treads her fingers through. He is stability and strength, he is her order when her world falls into chaos; the tree that offers her shade under the unrelenting heat of summer sun. Her Arlo is all earth, the smell of sandalwood and petrichor, and small genuine smiles tugging at the corner of his lips.

John is her home. In molten gold eyes, hair as dark as night, and calloused palms and bruised knuckles. He is freedom and adventure, the taste of wonder on her lips and passion on her tongue. Her John is the cool wind against her skin and seasalt on her tongue, the promise of a newfound excitement in the dawn of tomorrow. Her John is all passion and compassion, all warm and sunny, he is spring.

Wellston is her home, all bright and full of bustling people. It was sunshine on the canopy of trees, the cool breeze of the ocean, and the aroma wafting in the air.

Wellston is her home.

Until it wasn't.

Arlo is ice and cold and downright callous,  winter and snowstorms that promises to never wane. Those blue, blue hues of his eyes that shone with life and promise and joy, are jaded and calculating. Cruel too. She searches his eyes, hoping to find the boy she once called home, she hopes to find a sliver of emotion underneath that frost and ice. She does, and she tastes bitterness and grief and anger.

"What happened?" Arlo does not answer, merely stares at her, cool and calm and eyes dulled by the shadows clinging to him.

She leaves, empty and numb. Arlo is gone, buried six feet under in metal coffin, all chained and lock and kept under slates of ice. This Arlo is no longer hers, not in those jaded blue eyes and snow covered soil.

John is violence and death and blood. Vicious and angry, he wears his scorn like armour and wields threats of bodily harm as his weapon. His eyes are just as jaded as Arlo, and while she sees grief beneath those jaded blues, all she sees is hate beneath molten gold. There is no promise of adventure, she does not taste passion nor promise of dawn, only blood and bitterness and death.

"What changed?" She asks, and John throws his head back and laughs, harsh and sharp. When he stops, he looks at her and smiles too sharply and with too many teeth.

"I grew up."

Bitter but surprisingly calm, John is violence, a hurricane tearing through cities and destroying order. She cannot stomach to watch him, and so she leaves, dread weighing down her shoulder and grief weighing down her heart.

Wellston is her home. Until it wasn't. It's all shadows and conspiracy and deep-seated hatred. There is no light or life or cool ocean breeze, just the stench of death and smoke wafting in the air. This home is no longer hers.

Seraphina runs and runs and runs until she can no longer remember what it's like to stop and rest and admire the world around her. She runs and runs as if the hounds of hell are nipping at her heels, teeth bared and drool dripping from their snouts. She runs from memories, from two boys who had meant the world to her. She runs from war and the weight of responsibility because all she sees is two lonely boys, both hers, who had seen too much, felt too much, and had too little to hold on to. She runs and runs because she cannot come back, she wouldn't let herself do so.

Seraphina runs and does not return. Her home is lost and buried in the sands of time. They're too different, too jaded and haunted by loss and bloodshed and death.

×××

"But isn't Wellston still standing?" the soft, high-pitched voice of a child asks, dark pink eyes searching. "Why doesn't she come back?"

Seraphina smiles but it never quite reaches her eyes. She places a hand on top of Isen's head, treads her fingers through amber hair and softly, she whispers.

"Because it was never about Wellston. No, it was always about those two boys." She pauses, her gaze distant as she thinks of blue and gold, spring and autumn, the breaking of sunrise over horizon and the inky veil of night. "They were always her home, and without them, Wellston is just a place, a city."

Isen mulls over her words, expression pinched in concentration.

"What happened to the girl?" Another voice asked, quiet and curious, golden eyes (she pretends she does not see John in him) peers at her through strands of fiery red hair.

"Some say she never stopped running."

And Seraphina never stopped.

_________

Why Sera only shows up briefly in Kalopsia. She left the moment war started, she didn't want to pick a side, she could never pick a side. She loved them both.