melodywalsh-blog

[melodywalsh-blog]

date — april 23 location — courtyard status — open

Her name is called, and she forgets that it’s hers. Her name is called, and she waits for the title to come with it: kitchen apprentice. Her name is called, and she wants to pluck it from the King’s lips with her shaking fingers, hide it in the safety of her palm from Silvers and Reds and strangers. Melody Walsh — new blood. But she hardly feels new; she only feels afraid.

Melody looks meekly down at her shoes, hands clasped tightly as her ears grow hot. Her chest trembles with the force of emotions not her own: fear and awe and revulsion, prove yourself, show yourself, be less than what you are. Are they looking at her? Are they waiting for her to become a symbol of a new age? To shout in support of the King, to smile happily at her undoing?

She’s only ever wanted an apron around her waist, the smell of a cake baking all around her, and a hand tightly clasped in hers. But she is alone, and her hands are empty, and the kitchen is faraway. There is no sanctuary left to her; not even her own heart, so bombarded with the opinions of others after the King’s announcement.

Overwhelmed, unable to take it any longer, Melody turns to scurry away. But the crowd is thick and instead, she stumbles straight into the person behind her. “Apologies,” she murmurs, “If I could just get through, please…"

[melodywalsh-blog]

kassiopeanolle:

Kass had worn something simple and striking to the little reception that was being held in the hotel. Not a skirt, she wasn’t in the mood, but dark denim jeans, a loose tank top, and a leather jacket, aviators perched on her head as she wandered into the space. Any other reunion, she ought to have been the most brilliant success story. Top marks graduate of West Point, served with distinction overseas… But it seemed Nortan only served out celebrities in its graduating classes, and she was one of the lesser remarkable people by far. Her brothers’ daughters and sons had already asked her to collect as many autographs as possible. The families of the people here would likely have had no clue who she was. But then, like a breath of air to whoosh away any insecurity, Melody Walsh appeared before her and a bright, slightly mischievous twinkle appeared in her eye. She’d always loved corrupting the sweet girl… but she knew her through a different lens now. Through the lens of the wife of the man who’d stood beside her on the front lines. That meant off limits. “As if I’d leave you to the circling sharks, Mel.” She held out her arms for a hug. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”

It was human to run from disaster — but the sight of Kass reminded Melody of the times she had wholeheartedly welcomed it into her heart. There was beauty in understanding the chaos of letting someone in, and loving them regardless. And so Melody had cared for Kass, when they were young and bright-eyed; she’d been as beautiful as she was now, all these years later. Her eyes as dark and tempting as ever, the promise of an adventure tucked within. “My savior,” she said warmly, stepping into Kass’s arms without a hint of doubt. She held on for a beat longer than necessary, tightening her grip around her to emphasize how good it was to see her again. It didn’t matter, that Kass was close to her husband (if you could still call him that) — it didn’t stop Melody from thinking dearly of Kass, who had shown her how to step into the fire and come out alive, even stronger for it. “I haven’t seen you in ages.” Her lips pressed against Kass’s cheeks fondly before Melody stepped away from the hug and glanced over her. “You look as gorgeous as you always have. Some things never change.”

[melodywalsh-blog]

diemhynson:

Diem didn’t know why she was there. She hardly remembered anyone from her high school days, and most of those whom she did know weren’t even coming to the reunion. Rahul was her closest companion and they were skipping the event, yet for some reason Diem’s curiosity piqued and she made the effort to saunter over to the memorable event. She looked around the room and was about to head out because of the horrible fashion most were sporting when she spotted Melody. Diem wandered over to her good friend. She took a flute into her hand before placing a smile on her lips. “To think I almost didn’t come to this.”

A laugh escaped her at how true Diem’s words rang. Though she suspected they had been tempted to avoid the reunion for separate reasons, Melody had also gone back and forth on her RSVP for weeks. Though so far, she was glad she had taken the leap of faith and come to the reunion; it was worth it, to see old friends such as Diem. She was beginning to realize what a wretched job she had done in keeping in touch with her high school acquaintances — and if anything, the night was persuading her to do a better job at it in the future. "I almost didn’t come, either. But thank goodness both of us did.” She raised her glass in the air, inviting Diem to clink hers against it. “To actually coming to reunions.”

[melodywalsh-blog]

octavianrhambos:

MY SCARRED HANDS CAN NEVER HOLD HER LIKE SHE DESERVES

DATE: May 6th TIME: 8:37 PM LOCATION: Plaza Hotel STATUS: Closed to @melodywalsh​

He enters the ballroom with little grace, nearly stumbling in after bumping into someone who was sincerely happy to see him. They insisted he find them later to catch up. He nodded, but forgot who it was the moment he blinked, their name entering one ear and sailing out the other. Inebriation at its finest. But was he supposed to handle tonight sober? Fuck no. He still isn’t even sure why he came. To see her, he answers himself, but the thought brings a grimace to his lips and his face twists with resentment, betrayal, hurt. 

Seven years. He’s had seven years to move on, to find love in another person, to finally sign the papers—but has he? No, of course he hasn’t. Because he will never be rid of her. The name Melody still lingers on his lips. It hangs in the air, suffocating him slowly, yet still, he yearns to whisper it, to acknowledge the power it evokes and the hold it has on him. It remains singed onto his heart, claiming it as its own. Melody. He can still remember the first time he heard it, the first time he said it—the first time he fell in love.

He reaches the bar with no recollection of the walk over, instead wholly consumed—as he usually is—with thoughts of her. It only made him crave another taste of whiskey, made him wish for something to dull the excruciating ache the thought of her always gives him, anything to take his mind off of it, off of her.  “Whiskey,” he orders, laying down a twenty atop the counter and turns back around to face the crowd. He recognizes some, but not many. They’ve changed; they’re barely recognizable, as if he knew them in another life perhaps, but not now. 

They’ve changed; he hasn’t. 

“Melody,” he blurts the moment his eyes land on her. She turns the corner, peeking in slightly through his peripheral, but his head snaps and lands on her immediately. Eyes narrowed, but still soft (she always did bring out the softness in him, didn’t she?), he turns back briefly to grab his drink before peeling away, unsurprisingly drawn to her side. Like a dog to their owner, eyes wide and adoration endless, he just wants to be loved.

She remembers basic training. She remembers his letters and his stories, and she remembers waiting to throw herself into his arms again with all the abandon and recklessness she’s learned — from watching him, from loving him. And just as Octavian once trained to serve his country (is it possible, to be jealous of your own country for stealing your husband?), Melody has trained for the past few months for the inevitable.

Seven years. For seven years, Melody has wondered about him. For seven years, Melody has gotten used to explaining her marriage to those who ask her of the Mr. Rhambos they heard so much of on Hell’s Kitchen.

No, I’m sorry, we’re not together anymore.

So why keep the last name?

Because he will always be a part of who I am.

It’s a romantic notion, they tell her; but that’s only because they don’t know of all the nights Melody has cursed his name and prayed for his suffering. He brought out the best in her when they were together, and now that they are apart, he reminds her of her ugliest parts, her brittle and serrated edges. Sometimes, she thinks she hates him, and other times, she’s convinced she’s still in love with him; most of the time, she tries not to think about him.

But she can’t avoid him now — now, when he is in the same room and headed straight towards her, a drink in his hand and signs of wear-and-tear on his features. He’s aged, her Octavian. Without her. The thought of it makes her wince, and she knows that she hasn’t prepared her heart well enough for this minefield. But still, she does not move; she lets him come to her side and she takes a deep, shuddering breath. Wondering if he can see that she has not loved another. That the last time she was kissed, she cried immediately after and pushed her away. That the ring he once gave her now rests against the base of her throat on a chain.

“Octavian.” She means to say it loudly and assuredly, less like a prayer and more like a statement. But it falls from her lips in a whisper, and Melody clears her throat before trying again. “Octavian.” Better. “I…” Was hoping you wouldn’t come. Was hoping I would see you. Was wondering if you could answer a few questions for me — namely, why you didn’t think I was worth staying for. “I see you’re doing well.”

[melodywalsh-blog]

jacob-riley:

As Jacob’s eyes skimmed the room, he smiled to see Melody. They had been close once, her presence as frequent in his home as his own sister’s. But as things often to, they drifted apart some as they aged. As she found herself married to a man Jacob had never approved of and Jacob found himself diving deeper and deeper into the work that piled up around him. But to see her again was a relief and something he wouldn’t let slip away. He made his way through the crowd greeting her with a grin. “Oh come on, you didn’t think I would really leave you alone here. Skip this, miss the chance to tell people I’ve actually made a career for myself. Come on Mel, you know me better than that, don’t you?”

She had all but adopted Jacob as her own brother in high school, insisting on his companionship by spending most of her time at his house. He was kind to her, present in a way that her own brother couldn’t be. And she’d loved him; loved him so much that she couldn’t bring herself to see him after her own marriage fell to pieces. Jacob had never liked Octavian — but still, Melody felt like she’d failed him, somehow. So she’d run away from him, to her regret. “This sort of thing felt too cheesy for you to consider, you can’t blame me for thinking that,” Melody teased with a grin of her own. “As if you need to tell people how successful you are. They already know all about it, I bet.” 

Her eyes became somber and her expression became heartfelt, as Melody felt the need to tell him: “I’ve missed you, Jake. When did we lose touch?”

[melodywalsh-blog]

felicity-skonos:

Felicity had changed over the years. Once they had been scared to speak much more above a whisper, but somewhere, some way, they had found their feet. Found their voice. One they used for the sake of others, to point out the wrong doings in the world, to fight for equality. They still had a simple, reserved air to them, but their shoulders stood straight instead of curved down, their head tilted full on instead of peaking at the ground. They were subtle differences perhaps to everyone else, but Felicity could feel them in their bones. A soft smile crossed their lips when they caught sight of the girl they had once spend to much time volunteering with. One of the few people Felicity had ever let themselves babble near. “Melody,” the smile lit up their whole face, “It’s so good to see you again. It’s been years. I don’t… I’m not sure I’ve seen you since your wedding.”

Kindness was its own sort of bravery, but Melody had always admired those who spoke loudly and burned brightly — moreso than her own quiet kindness and the open arms with which she accepted the hearts of others. Felicity, especially, inspired Melody beyond what even Felicity might know. In high school, she had harbored a quiet crush for the girl she often volunteered with throughout the years; though she said little and showed even less of her feelings, Felicity had always been something of a hero. And she loved that Felicity continued to encourage those around her now, with the strength of love and acceptance for all. “It’s been too long, then,” Melody said with a laugh, deftly sidestepping the subject of her wedding. “Have I told you yet that I’m still so proud of you? You’re an inspiration to all of us, Felicity.”

[melodywalsh-blog]

date — may 6 location — plaza hotel status — open

The years had been kind to her. Her baby face had sunken in some, lending to her the wisdom that age often bestowed (asked for or not); her humble beginnings were nowhere to be seen in the elegance of her posture, the self-assured slope of her smile. And still, her heart fluttered. The years, it seemed, had turned on themselves. She was sixteen again, surrounded by people who knew her only as Mel, the soft-spoken girl who ducked her head shyly every time she laughed. To assuage her anxiety and distract her lips and hands with something to do, she reached for a flute of champagne. The glass had barely touched her lips when the entire room brightened, and she recognized a familiar face. “Hi — you came, too. I was worried I wouldn’t know anyone here.”

[melodywalsh-blog]

[melodywalsh-blog]

decadentlonging:

Reeling in the battling currents of overwhelming emotion and the compulsion to squash every feeling rising up in their throat, Rahul struggled to escape the ballroom as if they were wading through quicksand. Something unfathomable threatened to swallow them whole; the world seemed to slow, losing sound and feeling until they weren’t sure where they were headed or who was in their path. The only thing of any importance was to keep up appearances and invite no suspicion as to their deteriorating emotional state until they could be a solitary figure in a lonely room, curling inward on themself in a furious flash of feeling.

Instead they pushed back into the Room of Mirrors and felt instantly dizzy. They mind vaulted unbidden back to childhood, wandering the halls of the family estate in search of Sofiya, who always sought out the most adventurous hiding places. Then, they would call out for her to come out, come back, but there was nothing to fear for, eventually, she always did. If they called out to her now–come back Sof, I am lost without you–she would not appear at their side. No one would. No one ever really had.

Even through all this, the face reflected back at them a dozen times over was flat, perhaps a little dead behind the eyes, but otherwise unworrying. As Sofiya had been trained in keeping her cool in battle, they had practiced extensively the art of seeming perfectly unruffled by their surroundings no matter almost any circumstance (except when kings presented them with winged Reds, apparently). Just as predicted, a strange voice chimed among the glass walls around them and, with a mind that seemed to forget that voices were connected to bodies, they dropped the first remark to make it to their lips with little forethought. “Perhaps this room is meant for those who want to lose themselves. Who wouldn’t, when everything glitters?”

If not for the heart that insisted furiously on reaching out towards others, a conversation in a room of her own reflection would have been agonizing. Melody loved to watch a person’s eyes as they spoke; loved to track the small ticks in expression and behavior as they talked. But without the aid of sight to guide her through conversation, her heart became stronger; her empathy overpowered her. Her eyes saw only her own, but her entire being felt — oh, how it felt.

It felt like a story told in the sway and tide of the heart, the fickle movement of emotions and the way it drummed its own strange beat. A soul that was supposed to belong to you, only to leave. A dark room with little comfort. Glitz and glamor and gold, a screen to distract the eye from what laid beyond it. A heart that was simple at its core, with a maze to distinguish the true from the false, the kind from the selfish. The only thing Melody lacked was a name and a face — but she had a voice, and this ability that hummed in her veins. Perhaps that was all she needed.

“Glitter is not always beauty. Sometimes, it only distracts from its true nature,” she said carefully. Melody longed to offer her comfort and a warm word; but who was she to express her sympathies to a near-stranger? “I would still recommend something to help you find your way back. Getting lost is not nearly as comforting as being found.” As she spoke, an idea began to form. A cloud, a fog, a small thought that began to gather others just like it. Her brow gently angled as she began to concentrate, hoping — hoping to send some signal that she did understand, and that all was alright. To make them feel safe.

[melodywalsh-blog]

bvrner:

Something about the red in front of him seemed to remind him of what he stood for. Her features flashing different shades of red, and he realized that in that moment he adored the color. He had never been able to truly look a red so closely in the eye before, but there was a warmth to her that he didn’t have. There was a hint of love woven into her voice that he would never possess, and he wished to be caught up in her world for as long as she would allow him to stay there.

Every conversation Orion had seemed to pull him in and get lost, but it this single conversation where he was pulled in and seem to be at home. Her words laced with such admiration for him that he had small glimmers of hope, where the two of them would be able to share more than this dance together. If they desired, the world he wished to create would smile if marriage was a concept they went after, and he soon felt himself getting so settled into her presence that when he finally blinked; a frown captivated his features as reality came back to flesh.

“ Then shall we? ” He took her hand within his before lightly swinging her in towards him, placing his hand firmly on the small of her back. “ A secret name — I like the thought of that. Something only we would know. ” He spoke gently between the two of them as he soon glanced down to look at her. “ If you wish to save my feet, you could stand on my own or I could lift you during the duration of our dance. It wouldn’t be any trouble at all. ”

What were Kings raised to be? Fearsome, worthy of worship, charming? Her King managed to be all of the above as he gently coaxed exactly what he wanted from her: a dance, in this case. And Melody would obey him, because it was her duty to serve him and to follow him. At least I tried to warn him, she thought helplessly as he pulled her in. Her heart hammered in her chest; she was sure that her mask did little in hiding the awe of a girl looking hope in the eye.

Because — that was who he was: Norta’s hope, and hers. He held the sun in his hands and she was Icarus, with a heart that longed to see his vision carried through. She’d just never expected to dance with him, or to have his hand pressed against her back so intimately. She was swimming in waters deeper than she’d ever known, and she was so obviously out of her league. He was the King; she was the kitchen girl. “I guess we shall,” she managed, unable to refuse him. 

A thrill went through her at the potential of sharing a secret with the King; only we could know. To think! that there was even a passing thought of a we between her and Orion, even as dance partners at a masked circus. “Something kind and warm,” Melody suggested, “And inspiring, too. I once knew a boy named Pax — it meant peace in Roman, he told me. I think it fits you well. He used to tease me for my name — Melody Walsh. Mostly because he’d heard me sing, and I’m not very good.” His offer was gracious, more gracious than she’d expected. Melody swallowed the fluttering feeling in her chest and the nerves balled up in her throat as she nodded. Her words came out in an embarrassed murmur: “I suppose you could lift me, since I wouldn’t want to ruin your shoes.”

[melodywalsh-blog]

caldergliacon:

       Calder doesn’t exactly know what to do with himself at a celebration. Parties confuse him. Is he meant to socialize or meant to stand apart? People see him mostly as window dressing, not there to participate unless a fight breaks out. This is also how he sees himself, in most cases. His go-to behavior would be to find someone he knows, normally, while Max plays the role of Princess and he is relieved from his duty as a guard. Yet with everyone in masks, it’s impossible to tell friend from foe — and that puts him on edge more than ever.

       He doesn’t mean to stand out, but it seems as though someone has noticed him — or perhaps they’re going for another drink at the bar to his left. He can’t be sure, but she walks with purpose, and the closer she comes the more apprehension he feels. If she is looking for him, is it someone he likes or someone he’ll have to pretend with? Masks are supposed to be freeing, yet all he feels is trapped with it clinging to his skin. At least without the pretense, everyone knows he’s not a fantastic conversationalist. With it? They might mistake him for someone more Silver-tongued.

       She doesn’t curtsy, though he can see the Red staining her cheeks, and it fills him with relief enough that he studies her for familiarity. Yet beneath the mask, it isn’t until she smiles, the expression filled with bubbling joy, that he recognizes the Red chef he spoke to at the last event they had like this. Of course it would be her. Something loosens in his shoulders at the fact that no one has come to demand anything but his genuine conversation, and he holds out a hand in response to her question, as gentlemanly as he can. 

       ❝ I will, though I’m a bit of a wooden partner. ❞ He takes her hand and leads her to the floor — even a Silver with no social graces must know how to dance to survive. At least, that’s what he was taught. As an heir to his house, it would be reprehensible to have no skill, but he’s never been truly imaginative with it. Still, he knows where to rest a hand on her waist and how high to hold the opposite one, knows how to spin her in a relatively graceful fashion, and he’s a strong enough leader.❝ Did you visit the library, then? ❞

      For all the familiarity she’s adopted in approaching him, Calder does not know Melody. He has never heard the story of a girl who could not believe in lights that worked and a home that never failed her and parents who ever saw her — and he certainly doesn’t know what a terrible dancer she is. With another, Melody might feel guilty for trapping them this way. But he is the one who set her on the path to the library, where she toppled novels over and blushed furiously beneath the princess herself. This is the most innocent payback she can think of: a dance. A dance with a masked Red girl who thinks any person (Silver or not) can enjoy one song.

      Her smile broadens when he holds out his hand to her; her feet feel like flying when she senses the way he relaxes when he recognizes her. (Is this it — the moment he becomes her friend and not an acquaintance she met at a feast?) This small moment is enough for Melody: the warmth of trust, even if it’s so small as accepting her girlish request for a dance. If the night ended there, then she would have floated to her chambers as light as a feather.

 But it is not the end of the night, and she laughs at his confession. “I’m glad to hear it,” she says, “because I’m not a good dancer at all. Maybe I won’t be too embarrassed, then.” Or perhaps she will be embarrassed still, for Calder proves himself to be unreliable when he eases into position. Is there not a single Silver who is truly bad at dancing? Someone who is not lying when they insist on their less-than-impeccable dancing abilities? Melody casts a disapproving glance up towards Calder, her tone only half-teasing when she says, “Though I get the feeling you’re going to be just fine.”

“Yes, I did!” Melody’s asked around since their first introduction; she knows that he is the guard to the same princess she ran into. They must share a love of books, then. They must be friends, even! “I found a cookbook and an old fairytale about a girl who lives in the sea and finds her way to the shore for love. I also met Princess Adeline.” She beams, looking forward to Calder’s reaction. “You know her, right? She seems very kind, and very beautiful."

[melodywalsh-blog]

vezinacarros:

DATE: April 15th LOCATION: Emory’s room of water STATUS: Open to all  

          The loudness of the entire Ball was silenced easily as Vezina plunged under the water, the peaceful silence of being underwater and the simple fact of being alone… She needed those moments of reflection after everything that’s happened. She wouldn’t go near Nyssa’s room for fear of meeting the woman who may not even want to call her friend after the way she acted in the wake of their battle. For a few moments, she opens her eyes under the water and realizes that she and she alone is completely emerged. Everyone else seems to be above, speaking to others. And Vezina sits so far below, away from the commotion and away from the feelings of crushing disappointment that seems to be hung in every corner of Norta’s landscape. 

          She lets out the loudest scream she possibly can and watches as the bubbles float up to the top of the water, before pushing herself towards the barrier between underwater and the real world. She emerges slowly, and swims towards the edge. She either needs a stiff drink or some sort of engaging conversation. The water drips off her face, and she turns towards the person she’s found herself next to, “This is way better than the regular events.” Vezina states, “At least we aren’t forced to wear our very best clothes.” 

She comes not for the water but to honor a friend — for fear of the water cannot dare hold her back from showing kindness in this way. It is fondness for Emory that loans her strength and makes her brave; but even so, it’s not enough to keep the concern from creasing the corners of her eyes, the gentle downwards slope of her brow as Melody cautiously steps into the pool. It is not enough to merely watch; it seems almost rude to even gaze upon the beauty of Emory’s Room without a bathing suit on. If the ballroom requires a gown, then the Room of Water demands its own proper attire. And though Melody longs to cover her skin and stay dry, she wants to proudly tell Emory that she’s seen his room and experienced it and admired it in truth. Because this room — is a part of him. And Melody is determined to know Emory, as a friend and not just as a servant.

The water laps tenderly at her shoulders, as if it knows Melody has never learned to swim. Her teeth shatter, her hands nervously cross over her chest and curl around her shoulders. But the woman who rises from the water distracts Melody from the tension in her chest; she has always admired the graceful, the beautiful. She looks to her left, and then to her right, waiting for another to answer her before — she realizes the woman is addressing her. “Oh, well, I don’t know,” she says, feeling naked and vulnerable without the luxury of a mask and a gown, “I like wearing the pretty dresses, actually."

[melodywalsh-blog]

rosafowler:

Date: April 15th Time: 10.15pm Location: Grand Hall Availability: Open

Every child knew that imagination was their closest companion. The power of your mind could transport you anywhere, anywhen. It allowed you to reinvent yourself. In the deepest crevices of your mind, the colour of your blood mattered little, nor did the rags you wore in place of a dress. As a child, Rosa had used their mind as a form of escape. Whisked away from the painful reality they lived in, they became the idealised version of themselves, walking side by side with a set of blank-faced parents. Their heart was light. They were at ease. 

And yet, in all the daydreams and impossible scenarios, they had never imagined anything quite as beautiful as this.

Made anonymous by their mask, had she been any more absent-minded, their attention would have easily drifted. They would have gaped at golden ballgowns and delicate palms. They would have marveled at a limitless buffet and champagne that never ceased to flow. Perhaps they even would have looked at the newly minted King, seemingly blind to status. However, as it happened, they had business to attend to. A flare been and gone, a bright light penetrating a maze of decadent elegance, they had once again merged with the crowd, eager to loose themselves within it. Something else would come later, but for now, revelry was on the cards.

Despite that, she found herself a little ill-at-ease. Trained as a soldier, their instinct was to stand straight and follow orders, failing at small-talk and polite conversations about the weather. Who cared if it rained or not? And whilst they couldn’t help but feel an ugly duckling among a parade of swans, they couldn’t quite stop their admiration. Made brave by the mask hanging from their face, they nearly smiled as they turned to the person at her side. “I always wanted to go the circus as a child. And they say that your childhood dreams never come true.”

She was a child again. She was a child listening closely to the stories of the gods who ruled their own Olympus, Silvers who knew power so intimately that it seemed like air. She was but a girl with wide eyes, heart held fast by the idea of never questioning your own worth. For a girl whose parents loved carelessly and cared lovelessly, it was magic. The Silvers were magic. And perhaps there were those who detested the Silvers, whispers on the streets of her hometown of privilege turned rotten, sinister remarks of turning the gods from gold to dust.

But darkness had a habit of moving around Melody, coming very close to her soul but deflecting before it got too close. It was not luck that kept her soul light and pure; it was the deliberate protection of the people who loved her.

Nate and Concord were no longer here to protect her; they had all but turned their cheeks against her when Melody dared to reach for Olympus with her humble, flour-stained fingers. She watched the circus with eyes as bright as a child’s — and with a heart slowly sinking like a stone in water. Because she knew now, that to be Queen was to be brutal; to be Silver was to be untouchable; and to be Red was to forever stand on the outskirts of magic, fascinated by the world but denied true acceptance into it.

She was feeling it now: that quiet voice that reminded her she did not truly belong. That all the masks and elaborate gowns in the world could not make her Silver, and even her own blood did not make her fully Red (for a strange power hummed within her, and she knew she could not fight it forever). But the words of a stranger reminded her of how lucky she was to be in Archeon, and all the opportunity she had as an apprentice. As if it had never been real, Melody shrugged off the doubts that plagued her and turned to the masked stranger with a broad smile. “It really is a dream. I never thought I would see a circus, either. It’s… a whole new world, isn’t it?” Her eyes pressed in for familiarity in their features, wondering if she had seen them before. “Have you been to any of the rooms? Which one is your favorite?”

[melodywalsh-blog]

jacalynblake:

location ;; grand hall,  date ;; 04/16, 1:00 a.m. status ;; open

      It was overwhelming. To be admired once more. Jacalyn had almost forgotten what it meant to have people stare in wonder at her. But this was not at her, but rather the beautiful monstrosity that was currently posing as a innovative fashion choice. Rahul had done an amazing job making her wings seem like an accessory rather than actual wings that were attached to her spine and moved like additional limbs. And for a while, it was like nothing had changed. 

      But it had changed. Everything had. The glitz and glamour which once had excited her ( and still did in some ways, though it had dulled in the weeks since the explosion ) had become second to her need to constantly check behind her, to see if anyone was looking too closely. 

      “There’s so much to see and do,” she muttered. “I am not really sure what to do next.”

This emotion is not my own, Melody thought as her heart was flooded by caution — a need to look over her shoulder and watch for eyes that watched her back. It prickled at her skin, tugged on her conscience, led her eyes to wander and search the room. She had little to fear from a room of masks, but… oh, but the girl who had so quickly become the talk of Archeon surely must. When her gaze found Jacalyn, her heart grew wings of its own; and it immediately flew to cover Jacalyn.

It mattered little to Melody that she had never talked to Jacalyn before; it mattered even less that Melody did not gravitate towards physical affection until her heart felt safe. All she knew was that her empathy demanded a response, and her first reaction was to slip her hand into Jacalyn’s. “Would you like to take a walk with me? Somewhere private, maybe?”

Trust me, her heart murmured, I am your friend, already. And without completely meaning to, Melody’s warmth seeped out of her and attached itself to the girl-made-angel.

[melodywalsh-blog]

im so worried about tall boys….be safe…be careful up there… maybe u should come down here and kiss me

[melodywalsh-blog]

octavianrhambos:

You make me feel unsure, he thinks silently. He’s positive if she listens hard enough, and maybe if a hush falls over the room, then she’ll be able to hear just how fast his heart is beating, how hard his blood is pumping as he holds her tightly in his arms, how completely wrecked he is when he’s around her. Someone so strong becoming so weak for a tiny, little thing who enjoys making cookies and getting in touch with her feelings. Even Octavian himself still can’t believe it. But erring on the side of caution, he lets out a pensive sigh before he speaks. “You make it look easy,” he looks down and gives her a warm smile.

Anxiety must be wafting off of him in a disgusting stench, but Melody seems entirely impervious to it all and instead enticed and drawn to him just as much as he is to her. It’s comforting, just as comforting as holding her is. Gently, he drops her hand and his own falls to her waist and winds his fingers together behind her back. His chin falls to rest atop her head and he just sways there for a moment in time to the music, savoring the moment and willing time to suspend so he could stay here forever. 

In an instant, the music changes from somber and slow to fast-paced and filled with a heavy base and Octavian tenses. If he’s unsure about slow dancing, swaying side to side, he’s definitely unsure about dancing to music like this. Bending down, his lips hover outside the shell of her ear and he whispers softly. “What do you say we go somewhere more quiet?”

Picture a Red girl in the kitchen, apron hazardously tied around her waist and hair messily held away from her face. Imagine her quietly glancing over at the other cooks, and leaning over to ask: Have you heard of a Silver named Octavian? And so Melody learned of the Rhambos house, and Octavian as a soldier, a man whose name was synonymous to war. But no one ever told Melody of how gentle his hands could be, holding her like she is so fragile; no one hinted at how his smile had the power to warm cheeks and quicken hearts — hers, particularly.

For the first time since she’s felt her power, Melody longs for it. Can he see that her heart is in her throat, longing to spill itself and make itself known? Can he read the words that burn her tongue, confessing how he has fascinated her and captivated her since they first met? And — does he feel the same? A shy smile springs to her lips, and when he bends to offer a change of location in her ear, she nods eagerly.

“Anywhere,” she says. Tonight, she does not feel like Melody Walsh, Red kitchen girl who is hesitant to approach and slow to grab at the stars. Tonight, in Prisha’s Room, she is his equal, and she happily chooses to follow him wherever he likes. “We can talk, maybe. I haven’t seen you around these days.” A pause, as she wonders how vulnerable she can be around Octavian tonight. But the mask makes her brave, and so Melody opens her mouth and lets the quiet hurt she’s been shouldering show in her voice. “I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.”

[melodywalsh-blog]

I’m fighting myself. I know I am. One minute I want to remember. The next minute I want to live in the land of forgetting. One minute I want to feel. The next minute I never want to feel ever again.

Benjamin Alire Sáenz, Last Night I Sang to the Monster (via bleubeard)