Archive of Our Own ^beta

Sometimes, she thought. Sometimes, the only end she saw to this was one in the grave, buried not six feet under, but instead laid out in the dirt. The sun shining down on a bloodied, rotted corpse. The beady eyes of birds flocking above, their feathers stained red.

Sometimes, she thought. Sometimes she thought that she wouldn’t be leaving this Earth in a casket, but instead on a pyre among thousands as people laughed and chattered around their sacrifice, jeering and laughing at the nameless.

Sometimes, she thought. That perhaps, it would be better. Sometimes, the thought of her disappearance crossed her mind. The thought that perhaps one day she would be no more, no legacy to be left behind nor friend’s she’d made. Her trace on the world, nothing more than dust on the wind.

Most of the time, she didn’t think. She put feet to the ground, and moved. She molded herself into a woman of action, and even in those small moments she couldn't bring herself to regret.

In the moments of quiet, of softness and light, she smiled, light and airy. A smile that shone from the heart, the smile of a little girl, not the woman she had become.

In the moments of delight, in which laughter tumbled out from her gut into the air, when soldiers leaned against each other, and smiles filled the air, she thought. Her smile tugged up from within her, and full of teeth she felt whole, she felt content.

In moments of sadness, of despair and desperation, she begged to a god who didn’t listen. A god of pain and hardship, who turned away, again and again from her, that she still prayed to. She’d fall to her knees, and through tears that never left the shelter of her home, she pleaded.

Soldiers fell before her hands, desperate bloody hands uselessly pulling and pushing organs every way, smiles falling before her eyes. She smiled grimly at other blank eyes. They put foot after foot after foot, into this hopeless battle, holding only to the dream of more. Her friends smiled before her, but soon even they faded away. Her prayers went unanswered.

On sick beds and in nurseries, her voice cried out again and again, ordering people every which way, as shallow breaths took their last. Heartbeats faded under her hands, and sometimes she thought about giving up, throwing in the hatchet, and not even showing up yet. Yet, she arrived again and again, rarely ever in time. Her prayers went unanswered.

Her prayers went unheard in graves. Dirt piled up from all sides, pyres building but yet her bloody hands never stilled, and no one ever responded. It was never answered, no matter how much blood steeped the earth, and candles lit. The thoughts rotated around her mind, and her hands worked, tirelessly, bloodily, surrounded by rotten flea ridden carcassess, friends and foes alike. Her prayers remained fucking unanswered.

She made her own prayers, her own answers. She found a lover, found a family, found an answer. She put her feet to her ground, and dragged her home out from under the war. Her fist blooded, in healing and violence, and she didn’t rest. There was no rest for her. Again and again, she went out, burning pyres of people, preventing diseases and tragedy, no longer wishing for an end.

Then he died, the breath went out and she was left.

Alone, the wind whispered around her. Her heart stopped, her knees hit the ground. Hands pressed into her. Her eyes stared. He was gone.

He promised.

That’s fine. Everything’s Dandy. She looked up, saw those pity ridden, sympathetic eyes, and vomited.

She left. Her prayers unanswered, she’d stopped asking. Her cries unnoticed, long forgotten. Her heart shattered into pieces, as friends tried to stop her. Desperate hands pulled and clawed into her skin, into long forgotten bruises. Into scars, that she’d healed, her skin opening, raw desperate wounds.

So, sometimes she thought.

Sometimes, there was no pot at the end of the rainbow, no answers waiting behind that door,

Sometimes, the only route out was death.

She left.