- username; atlas,
name; keir
what are they leaving lost in the fog?;
the goddess-like title she did not deserve or want.
You are dancing in a clearing under the moonlight, surrounded by thorns and those indigo trees that you’ve come to love. Ignore the bitter cold of winter and the faint, freezing pain that starts to claim your fingers and toes and find eternal freedom.
The thoughts clouding your mind are heavy and laced in a melancholy you wish would go away, but instead, they follow you like a pack of wolves hunting down their prey. The potion bottles you brought click gently as you fall into the snow, before closing your eyes as you enter your dreams.
A cathedral drenched in small, sharp thorns crawling up the stone towers forms before you. It offers you freedom, an escape that you are tempted by. The thought of escaping the prestigious title you did not deserve nor did you want sounds so delicious in the end you rush at the building, pushing the doors open.
The figures of fog follow you, tailing behind you. Flicking your tail, they shift and form into large owls, gliding gracefully through the air. These creatures were a curse- your curse. You quickly realize that you were not you in your dreams, but instead something greater, stronger, and more powerful. You almost feel like a god. Something about the fog is peculiar, however.
The ninth star spent her time in the old, overgrown abandoned cathedral, hiding from the judgemental world she knew that lay outside the deep forest she had become so used to. The last she had heard from the small village that she loved so dearly was that they thought she was simply on a journey with the rest of the “stars” and would return soon. The stars were special, almost god-like with their powers, people said. Kier knew that they thought of prosperity and goods upon her “return”, while her heart ached thinking about the young children that would be disappointed once they knew she was gone. Keir has no one to cry out to, no one to support her. Just her and her ghostly, sickening companions she could barely call friends.
Kier pulls her hair into a bun, cursing at how long it had become. Tugging the cloak over her face, the “star” leaves the cathedral for the first time in months.
You awaken from your slumber, feeling groggy. Either way, you yawn and step through the forest, on your way once again. Even with the snow, the forest is even darker today. Fog floods the forest, flowing freely around your legs like water. Pushing through the trees and bramble, a faint almost iridescent cathedral stands in the distance, tinted with shades of purple from the moonlight. It illuminates the dark forest but you can tell that the fog is thicker and harder to walk through around the cathedral. A crow caws behind you, gliding through the air and sailing away towards the bright building. It gets more and more blurry as you push through the fog, and eventually, it drowns you out, blinding you but still holding you gently in its arms. You cough and splutter, feeling sick.
You fall to your knees, suddenly weak and vulnerable. The fog washes over you like a wave from the ocean.
The two ghostly, fog owls now look like beasts, and you cower in fear.
“Do not fear us, for our master is gentle.”
“Do not fear us, for our master is gentle.”
Kier wanders through the forest aimlessly, leaving a trail of fog behind them. “I am broken, worthless and alone.” the voices in her head screamed and pulled at her. “You stole what was rightfully hers. You wretched being.” they echoed over and over, tripping her emotions. Her hands shake, her head feels heavy and she gives in to the voices, succumbing to their whispers. “The ‘star’ doesn’t feel fear, she’s meant to be graceful, intelligent, and would listen never, ever, leave her title behind.” were the words people whispered as she passed through the crowd back at her village. Tears fill in her eyes as she thinks again about what she’d done.
“You can’t run forever.” the voices echoed in her head. “Bring us a friend, and we will bring you to a place where you can escape.”
Escape from what though?
“Escape from what they want from you.
The things they expect from you.
That is when you will finally be free.”
Escape from what though?
“Escape from what they want from you.
The things they expect from you.
That is when you will finally be free.”
You cough and blindly stumble around in the midst of the fog and somehow it seems to part its way for you, and allow you to discern an ancient pedestal, with a dish of water in the center. Feeling sick, you wonder if drinking from it would help you. Shaking your head, you take a swig from the potion you brought and instantly you are filled with warmth. The fog that parted for you now dances teasingly in front of you, and you try to grab it with both hands, watching it poof into the air. Grasping the fog is like trying to grasp onto lost hope.
People search for her. People scream for her name, but she ignores it. These weren't the hymns she wanted to hear, so she runs swiftly away from them. Her visions and desires are blurry and she won't stop running, running away from what people wanted from her. The feeling tugs at her heart, burns in her throat and screams at her to stop and go back. Kier's past is behind her and that's how she wants it to be.
She pleads and begs for them to stop so she can escape, for them to forget about her and what she represents. Kier wants to disappear into her foggy curse, to hide and become an illusion.
“You don’t have to run anymore, Kier.”
But I am a lie to them.
I will always be a lie to them.
I am not what they believe I am, I am not what they desired
“But if they believe in this lie so passionately, it may become your truth.”
And this truth is so ugly, twisted and warped, I'd rather it be the pretty lies.
You can’t spell believe without lie.
Kier is their lie. Their ugly beautiful lie.
But I am a lie to them.
I will always be a lie to them.
I am not what they believe I am, I am not what they desired
“But if they believe in this lie so passionately, it may become your truth.”
And this truth is so ugly, twisted and warped, I'd rather it be the pretty lies.
You can’t spell believe without lie.
Kier is their lie. Their ugly beautiful lie.
art