08-13-2019, 04:01 AM
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leadership, the very thought of it, made a bile form in the back of her throat. it was a plague in her family, a curse. you put a greene in charge, and the whole goddamn castle crumbles to the ground. they were lit matches in a dehydrated forest, a wounded swimmer in sharks territory, a herd of bulls in a china shop. they were dangerous, every one of them in their own right. her father disobeyed direct orders in an attempt to do the right thing. her mother valued those orders too deeply to save her husband's life. her sister solved every issue with the wrong end of her fist.
and carter? where carter went, shallow graves and too many bodies to count followed. she felt like a horseman of the apocalypse, the harbinger of death. she'd never even needed to be in charge for it to happen, she didn't need to be told to do the things she'd done. she'd simply done them, understanding the cost and the reward, understanding the weight of every decision she'd ever made. carter acted with the thoughts of the many in her mind, she tried to do the right thing, but it seemed as though her life was one impossible choice after another. time and time again, she did the difficult thing so others didn't have to. she bled and she ached and she burned at the stake so they didn't have to.
and in the end, she'd been left alone. fifteen years old, a child abandoned with nothing, with no one. exiled at her own mothers command, and exile had been the decision of pity. she wasn't the one who should have gone, at least not alone, but she took credit for the sins of her family because someone had to, and who better than the blue-eyed martyr everyone had already designated the villain?
she accepted that with ease. she'd trained her eyes forward, kept her chin up, and walked away from the only world she'd ever remembered, into the expanse of nothingness beyond. odds of survival weren't good, but she'd done it. she'd found a boy with dark eyes and a bleeding wound, and she'd told herself that maybe, just maybe, she could save him. and if she did that, maybe he could save her. all the things she'd done in her life, maybe he could keep her from a cold little corner of hell. and if you asked her, she'd say he had saved her. not in any one instance, no moment of playing knight-in-shining-armor, but in the small moments. he kept her going, kept her breathing, kept her standing. when she had days where she couldn't look herself in the mirror, he was a steady hand to guide her. in turn, she kept him from being stupid, kept him from getting himself killed. he'd been her best friend for a decade, and then he'd been more. as of even more recently, he'd gotten himself a wedding ring and a shiny new title to match it; husband.
if any of them knew a thing about carter, they'd understand that she was nervous. anxious. terrified. she didn't want more lives on her hands, and yet when josiah had offered her to stand beside him, she'd said yes without hesitation. it wasn't a desire for power, for respect; rather, it was a desire to prove to herself that she wasn't her mother, nor her father. she wasn't blindly loyal to an idea, to a definition of right. she didn't need to lead an army of priests to be a good person, and she didn't need an army of killers to be bad. she was firmly somewhere in the middle, somewhere comfortable and familiar.
she accepted this with ease. she'd trained her eyes forward, kept her chin up, and walked away from the comfort of insignificance, moving through the room with ease as she moved closer to her husband. golden curls framing an ivory face, shiny ring on her left hand, blue eyes saying nothing, she looked like the picture of sainthood, though she was anything but. if any of them knew a thing about carter, they'd understand that she was on the edge of her seat, waiting for something to go wrong. luckily, conveniently, none of them did. the only one who knew the blonde was the man she stopped beside, arms crossing and eyes shifting to his face, taking comfort in the familiar lines and slopes of the man she knew better than herself sometimes. her eyes rested on him, silently informing him that this would be his stead, not hers.
leadership, the very thought of it, made a bile form in the back of her throat. it was a plague in her family, a curse. you put a greene in charge, and the whole goddamn castle crumbles to the ground. they were lit matches in a dehydrated forest, a wounded swimmer in sharks territory, a herd of bulls in a china shop. they were dangerous, every one of them in their own right. her father disobeyed direct orders in an attempt to do the right thing. her mother valued those orders too deeply to save her husband's life. her sister solved every issue with the wrong end of her fist.
and carter? where carter went, shallow graves and too many bodies to count followed. she felt like a horseman of the apocalypse, the harbinger of death. she'd never even needed to be in charge for it to happen, she didn't need to be told to do the things she'd done. she'd simply done them, understanding the cost and the reward, understanding the weight of every decision she'd ever made. carter acted with the thoughts of the many in her mind, she tried to do the right thing, but it seemed as though her life was one impossible choice after another. time and time again, she did the difficult thing so others didn't have to. she bled and she ached and she burned at the stake so they didn't have to.
and in the end, she'd been left alone. fifteen years old, a child abandoned with nothing, with no one. exiled at her own mothers command, and exile had been the decision of pity. she wasn't the one who should have gone, at least not alone, but she took credit for the sins of her family because someone had to, and who better than the blue-eyed martyr everyone had already designated the villain?
she accepted that with ease. she'd trained her eyes forward, kept her chin up, and walked away from the only world she'd ever remembered, into the expanse of nothingness beyond. odds of survival weren't good, but she'd done it. she'd found a boy with dark eyes and a bleeding wound, and she'd told herself that maybe, just maybe, she could save him. and if she did that, maybe he could save her. all the things she'd done in her life, maybe he could keep her from a cold little corner of hell. and if you asked her, she'd say he had saved her. not in any one instance, no moment of playing knight-in-shining-armor, but in the small moments. he kept her going, kept her breathing, kept her standing. when she had days where she couldn't look herself in the mirror, he was a steady hand to guide her. in turn, she kept him from being stupid, kept him from getting himself killed. he'd been her best friend for a decade, and then he'd been more. as of even more recently, he'd gotten himself a wedding ring and a shiny new title to match it; husband.
if any of them knew a thing about carter, they'd understand that she was nervous. anxious. terrified. she didn't want more lives on her hands, and yet when josiah had offered her to stand beside him, she'd said yes without hesitation. it wasn't a desire for power, for respect; rather, it was a desire to prove to herself that she wasn't her mother, nor her father. she wasn't blindly loyal to an idea, to a definition of right. she didn't need to lead an army of priests to be a good person, and she didn't need an army of killers to be bad. she was firmly somewhere in the middle, somewhere comfortable and familiar.
she accepted this with ease. she'd trained her eyes forward, kept her chin up, and walked away from the comfort of insignificance, moving through the room with ease as she moved closer to her husband. golden curls framing an ivory face, shiny ring on her left hand, blue eyes saying nothing, she looked like the picture of sainthood, though she was anything but. if any of them knew a thing about carter, they'd understand that she was on the edge of her seat, waiting for something to go wrong. luckily, conveniently, none of them did. the only one who knew the blonde was the man she stopped beside, arms crossing and eyes shifting to his face, taking comfort in the familiar lines and slopes of the man she knew better than herself sometimes. her eyes rested on him, silently informing him that this would be his stead, not hers.
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[color=#BCD8E4][shadow=black,left]a weekend on a boat in california
memes available upon request  van#5054