v (vesta) wrote in disorderic, @ 2018-05-24 13:14:00 |
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Entry tags: | hestia jones |
WHO: Hestia Jones.
WHAT: š¢
WHEN: Early morning May 24th.
WHERE: A cemetary.
The grass was dewy, and the sun had barely risen. Hestia set her jacket down and slowly moved to sit on it, a hand pressed to the healing wound on her stomach. A groan escaped her lips as she stretched out her legs, and she closed her eyes, breathing in deeply. Her eyes fluttered open after a moment and she reached her arm out, fingers brushing over the new granite headstone. She opened her mouth to say something, but speaking to the dead felt so trite. She just couldnāt do it. Instead she folded over her knees, resting her forehead against them while she hugged her legs. She stared at the grass between her legs, breathing shakily. Her shoulders and jaws were clenched, her body prepared for a fight. But she didnāt have to fight anymore. It was all over. What did that even mean for her? Out of a job, dead sister, ex-vigilante. Her future didnāt seem bright. It was over, but that didnāt bring Hemera back. That didnāt undo everything that had happened. She sniffled, sitting up to inspect the graveās marker. A gust of wind sent her hair flying out in all directions and she closed her eyes once more, enjoying the breeze. Her chest felt tight, and she brought up a hand to clutch at her shirt, face screwed up in pain. āIām sorry,ā she gasped, bringing her hand down to touch the grass over her sisterās grave. She opened her eyes, staring at the sky. They had won, but she had lost. Sorrow washed over her and she gazed at her sisterās grave with a pained expression. She took a breath after a moment and pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket. She slowly unfolded it and smoothed out the page, fingers tracing over the words. She cleared her throat and began to read from it. āDo not stand at my grave and weep I am not there; I do not sleepā¦ā |