eullalia-blog1 - Tumblr blog

[eullalia-blog1]

.

[eullalia-blog1]

lover, where art thou? are you lost at sea? can you hear me sing?

lover, lover. I’ve heard that sound doesn’t travel very well underwater. are you there?

lover— it is finished. I will not be mocked.

— Venetta Octavia, “glory”

[eullalia-blog1]

Astrid for Valentino Donna

[eullalia-blog1]

He makes me forget that I can be destructive. He makes me not want to destroy.

Morgan Claire (via wnq-writers)

[eullalia-blog1]

‘ you are not alone in life although you might think that you are.’

oh, but you know nothing, child! when mermaids left the sea, more things than home they left behind: all ties, sisters, creatures, everything. to walk ashore was loneliness. 

         (yet still this girl, small thing, was right.                   all she need do was return to the sea.) 

            “you are very smart for someone so young,” 

[eullalia-blog1]

hc + dancing

Send me  “HC”  + a word and I’ll write a headcanon about it.

everything is a dance beneath the sea, where waves and tides  keep everlasting rhythm. to swim is to dance, and so eulalia was born dancing. singing came next, and then knowledge of land. she was clumsy on her legs at fist, unaccustomed to standing’s balance, to the pendulum rhythm of walking, of running. these she had to master first before she could learn to dance. 

and she learned on the shores of greece with a group of girls who taught her, laughing. more natural it seemed than walking, than running, reminded her of life beneath the waves. 

from then she learned the dance of each place she came to shore, just as she learned the language (for dancing was a language, after all, a way of speaking things unsaid).

music has surrounded her since the dawn of her first day, where water always sings, where her sisters teach their songs. and music - different in sound, perhaps, but not in form - is something shared by undine and mortals both. 

though her first love is singing, music played on instruments, she loves to dance just slightly less, has learned to use it to her advantage in some moments. her preference for dance is a certain sort of wild dance, abandon. and though she learned the staid court dances of their day, she did not like them quite as much as the others she had learned.

[eullalia-blog1]

Send me  “HC”  + a word and I’ll write a headcanon about it.

[eullalia-blog1]

I burn, I freeze; I am never warm. I am rigid; I forgot softness because it did not serve me.

Deathless, Catherynne M. Valente (via compelledbybooks)

[eullalia-blog1]

[eullalia-blog1]

[eullalia-blog1]

I wear my grief like glass. Sting the water like a song. This is an SOS: This is a story. Bend my neck like a willow tree. Play this tale like a bard. There are five things you must know: Ash, fire, salt, sea, and air, meaning— when the morning leaves (and it always leaves) the sky burns and all clouds turn to ash. the ash rains into the vast salt sea. I drown. I am drowning.

Venetta Octavia, “A Famous (Dead) Writer Tries To Teach Me Something About Men” (via venettaoctavia)

[eullalia-blog1]

“thank you.” his name she thought strange, so simple, from narnians so different. a giggle soft as ripples, here-then-gone. once-frozen lips and lungs to laughter did not now easily adjust. “oh yes,” she said. “as dryads live within the trees, we are tied to water. my father is the river god. as long as you walk near the water, there my family is. some of my sisters played the harp in aslan’s camp - - perhaps you saw them there.” 

        (she had not, still blue-lip chilled, no music in still-frozen heart)

a moment longer from the water did she watch, words surprising. (was she brave at all? she who could not thaw so soon to spring as sisters had?) slowly from water she rose, climbed barefoot onto the shore (soft gown of blue rippling like water, as though formed from river from which she rose). on shore she sat beside him, just arm’s-length away, with cautious eyes still quite carefully at watch. “water is meant to freeze in winter. and then we sleep, or move out to the sea. the witch’s winter trapped us. it was not bravery to survive it. no, my sisters are the brave ones. those who still can play the harp and dance with dryads on the shore. i have not their courage.” 

“    eulalia   —   that’s a pretty name.   ”    because it was.   narnians by and large had very INTERESTING names,   some of which he found it difficult to pronounce,   but he was managing it.    he was managing all of it.    “    are your father and sisters close by?   ”    he’d like to meet the entire family if he could   (  did naiads have families in the way he thought of them?   or did they simply consider everyone in their whole species family?   )

her next comment   took him for a stop.   “   i try to be.   ”    he never really thought about it all being BRAVE,    he was just doing what he had to do.   FEAR and bravery didn’t play any factors in his decisions;   the level of importance of what he had to do did.      “    you must be very brave yourself,   to have survived the winter like you did.    ”     he didn’t know much about the details of the witch’s winter,   but he did know it was so bad that naiads were frozen inside their rivers.     peter got antsy just thinking about it.

[eullalia-blog1]

WANTED: PLOTTED RELATIONSHIPS: 

other mermaids/sirens who are either (depending on chosen lore, etc) appalled by eulalia’s habit of drowning (no matter how much the other “deserved it”) OR think she isn’t deadly enough

a man eulalia attempted to drown but couldn’t (because someone would have caught her if she continued) and now he either wants to know more about what she is or knows exactly and uses it against her (or tries to?)  

someone eulalia saved when they were a child whose memory is sparked when they see her years later (and she looks exactly the same)

the wife/daughter/girlfriend/fiancee/sister/friend/whatever of a man eulalia drowned who saw her lure him to the water 

a new love interest basically, who can either a.) betray (”betray?”) her OR not - - which might be interesting with eulalia’s aversion to love 

another immortal/immortal-ish being who keeps running into her over and over again throughout the centuries. could be a friendship or love or hate situation, whatever is most interesting 

FAMILY-LIKE RELATIONSHIPS OKAY, either “sisters” or “brothers” who are other beings or humans she has essentially adopted

pretty much anything else tbh, plots are fun :3

[eullalia-blog1]

within temptation starters.

‘ a new beginning always starts at the end. ’ ‘ all my agony fades away when you hold me in your embrace. ’ ‘ all of my love, i gave to you. ’ ‘ all of my memories keep you near. ’ ‘ come break away with me. ’ ‘ don’t you die on me - you haven’t made your peace. ’ ‘ for all we are is falling stars in the night. ’ ‘ give me your wings to flee from my ivory tower. ’ ‘ have i been blinded by regret? ’ ‘ haven’t you seen the ruins of our world? ’ ‘ heaven can wait ‘cuz my soul ain’t for sale. ’ ‘ hope plays a wicked game with the mind. ’ ‘ how can you be so blind? ’ ‘ how can you find a heaven in this hell? ’ ‘ i can’t stand the fear inside me. ’ ‘ i didn’t want him to die all in vain. ’ ‘ i don’t believe in judgment day, but you won’t be leaving here unharmed. ’ ‘ i forgot where i came from. ’ ‘ i know you are going away. ’ ‘ i need to be with you again. ’ ‘ i will always stand my ground. ’ ‘ i’ll never help you through. ’ ‘ i’m proud of all my scars. ’ ‘ i’ve been waiting for someone like you. ’ ‘ if i could turn the hands of time, i would. but here i am.’ ‘ it’s all that we’re fighting for. ’ ‘ it’s always been like this. i don’t know why. ’ ‘ it’s my cross to bear, and I’ll bear it gladly. ’ ‘ is it a sin to seek the truth? ’ ‘ is there a place deep within? a place where you hide your darkest sins? ’ ‘ is there a place more lonely than i feel within? ’ ‘ is this the ending of what we’ve begun? ’ ‘ it tears me apart that you will never know. ’ ‘ my choices are mine - it’s my fate. ’ ‘ my fate is horror and doom. ’ ‘ only vengeance will make me feel better. ’ ‘ our dream ended long ago. ’ ‘ release me from this cross after all these years. ’ ‘ take away these hands of darkness. ’ ‘ the reaper is close; i’ve seen his smile. ’ ‘ there’s always a sparkle of hope if you just believe. ’ ‘ they can’t break what’s inside. ’ ‘ they’ve come to take our lives away. ’ ‘ this never-ending story, where will it lead to? ’ ‘ today is the end of tomorrow. ’ ‘ we must be the change we wish to see. ’ ‘ we will be together again. ’ ‘ what are you fighting for? ’ ‘ what did they aim for when they missed your heart? ’ ‘ where is the edge of your darkest emotions? ’ ‘ wherever you are, i won’t stop searching. ’ ‘ why can’t you see what we had? ’ ‘ will all our sins be justified? ’ ‘ won’t you please forget? ’ ‘ you are not alone in life although you might think that you are.’ ‘ you can’t hide what lies inside you; it’s the only thing you’ve known. ’ ‘ you could have chosen a different path of life. ’ ‘ you were never free. ’ ‘ you’ll always be mine. ’ ‘ you’re like a ghost within me who’s draining my life. ’ ‘ you’re the reason I have to stay. ’

[eullalia-blog1]

And then she told herself, “Stop being so weak. Grow up and get over it.” and then she never felt anything again.

(via notwhatwasdesired)

[eullalia-blog1]

[eullalia-blog1]

peaceful, this, yet snarling, pondwater all afloat with weeds, with fallen branches. hands slip through still water, catch a fish for herself, silver-slippery and thrashing. feet in thick weeds tangle and propel slim body through the water, emerge glistening to perch on seat of scraggly roots of fallen tree. dark hair slicks, sticks to skin, dark-to-pale entrancing contrast meant to mortal eye or to camouflage in dark-light water ripples. “ hmmm... “ head tips, feet kick, toes flick drops of water. “how many would you like to catch? and are we limited to fish, or do you speak of other prey?” 

@eullalia​ liked ! 

The cheap metal sigils branding the raiment of a small fish (good for sucking on, not devouring) trickle down the tar-oil of the marsh, her fingers webbing in the milkweed as she palms the slick flesh. Rarely does Lola frequent ponds like these because of the thick stench of mud braiding into her hair, a low baritone wind seeping into her marrow – all it threatens to drown her and hold her by the throat. The glasswort weed stains her knees as she floats. She turns her head and smiles, teeth budding into fangs, jaw jutting. “And how many we gonna catch today?”