storiesatdawn - Tumblr blog

[storiesatdawn]

witches rarely assume their true form, mar mused.

Even herself, or rather especially herself, was an amalgamation of people and things she had found beautiful.

her hair was stolen from peaches, the pale warm pink, and the golden tones with a fluffy texture. her hair wasn't silky at all- it almost felt more like the fur of her favorite sheeps.

she constantly stood just below the sun- right outside of it's most harsh rays, just enough to kiss her cheeks with a dewy pink flush.

her clothes could be considered hand me downs- they were nearly the uniform of all great witches, with modifications to the shoulders, colours and accessories of course.

All that to say, what could the original form of Mar even look like? A collection of sunrays that blinded you, a ball of wool to comfort, a juicy peach to nourish? There really wasn't a way to know- maybe in the divine realm where it was their business to know, but in the in-between, there was neither a reason nor a desire to convert to originality. Evolution was the favoured mindset, and so in that mindset mar had stayed.

still- she continued, it might be a fun exercise to shapeshift into something she felt in her essence to be true. It was dangerous grounds, though, since shapeshifting wasn't her forte and she often lacked the energy, incentive, and planning to do it. Best to stick with divination and basic spellcasting than transmogrifying yourself into a peach... again.

[storiesatdawn]

peaches for a fortune

peaches gilded in gold shine, almost menacingly, in the center of the altar.

the scent of jasmine incense hangs heavy in the air, and she feels drowsy as she enters the room with the witches presence.

She didn't make herself known at first, the tarot reader. She watched mutely from a long table of guests, wealthy clients no doubt, a small smile which didn't touch her eyes hanging from her lips.

Upon making eye contact with her newest client, she stood and stepped away from the bench fluidly, gesturing with a "follow," motion of the arm. The bells on her clothing jingled melodically with every step she took, and she took more than 3 steps per normal pace. A quirk of her shoes, the long skirt, or of her personality, I couldn't decide.

She was lead to a quiet, small room in non-offensive colors of dark blue, lavender and silver. The cushion on the floor she was made to sit on was cloud-soft, and she was content to sit and watch Mar work, until her voice rang out in an unexpectedly huskier, lower pitch than you may expect coming from her appearance.

"You don't have to tell me anything," her tone was soothing, layered with magics that almost hypnotized you into spilling everything, "just focus on the questions you want answered. If there isn't anything concrete, how about you wonder about the direction you're supposed to take moving forward, or things in your past that you still haven't uncovered." Her voice tripped over certain words that made the client glance up suspiciously- was it emotion, a catch of the throat, was there knowing and wisdom where there should be ignorance?

[storiesatdawn]

Just why in the world is it so difficult for you to take a break? Mar will always look at you with utmost love in her eyes. She will never deny you your hard work- when the result isn't what you needed or expected, she will encourage you to put your hands in hers and take a long deep breath. Only after you indicate you're ready, will she let you off to try again. Not a moment before then- linger as much as you want.

Let her body become your solace, from the tender softness of her flesh, to the fluffy warmth of her hair, to the expressions of love and mirth that never leave.

Let your love overflow from your body, from the cracks in your bones as you correct your posture with her, to the giggles and deep belly laughs that vibrate your spirit & leave. If there is nothing constant or lasting in the world, love is all that we can rely on.

Mar is not the end all, be all of her kind. If her voice is not a soothing tonic to your ears, surely there is a witch in the world whos pitch will match yours perfectly.

If at the end of the day, your efforts to find comfort fail, find comfort in yourself.

From the soft, human, delicate flesh of your body and the unique way that you smile, your tics and turns and efforts that only you know about. Romanticization of oneself is sometimes the only way that we can get by when we feel alone.

[storiesatdawn]

tw : implications of suicide, death I become sober at the thought of living forever.

I'm blessed, certainly, to not have to constantly worry about it being cut short by any natural means.

But I can't help but think that the uncertainty wears on my immortal yet young mind even more. Where will the earth be, 1, 2, 3, 10 decades from now? Where will I be? What form will I take, and what will my goals be.

What will my partner look like?

1 decade he will certainly begin graying at the temples.

The next his wrinkles more pronounced, his body still in it peak but with sun spots and uneven tan lines.

3 decades later I pray your health is in tact.

4 decades later I will continue praying, and he will bemoan my unchanging state.

5 decades later and he will start saying things like "I lived a good life," and that "I never regretted anything," and both will be untrue.

In 6 decades I might be alone again, and if that is true how can I stop myself from following you?

Instead of decades humans think in years. But years are long in themselves. 365 days in a year, with 24 hours each day.

The thought of lasting an hour without you tears my soul from my body. She floats above me and we make eyecontact, and she nods gravely before ascending into the sun.

[storiesatdawn]

tw : starving

thankfully, Mar's financial situation now is a lot better than here. Please don't feel compelled to pity Mar in her current situation- this was a time ago.

some of you have never had to eat a strangers leftovers before and it shows.

Irrationally, I would worry about HIV & AIDS. That isn't transmitted through spit, idiot, I would scold myself as I steeled myself to take a bite.

The food itself was delicious- the paranoia that I was contracting covid or some other completely disease because I was getting too hungry to stand it was unbearable. The shame raced from my heart through my limbs and I could feel my body rejecting the notion. My mouth watered and bile filled my thoughts and my throat lurched, but I wouldn't allow anything to travel upwards.

Have you ever been to poor to vomit?

My brain was foggy- I couldn't string together a coherent thought, nevermind concoct a solution to my poverty. And my clothes were too loose for comfort. I felt cold at all times- swimming in layers of clothing to keep in just a smidge of the warmth that I couldn't generate on my own.

Do you believe people complimented, envied my thinness?

It made me angry to the point of tears. I'd excuse myself, because I couldn't afford to lose it in public, and thrash around in my bed until I could fall asleep through the feeling of my stomach eating itself.

I'd read a post in passing, some braindead tweet that told me to enjoy the feeling of my stomach eating itself as it meant that you were losing weight, as surely any woman who was stupid enough to spend time on twitter needed to lose weight.

I typed out a scathing response only to delete it all and tuck my laptop deep deep in my closet to keep it safe from myself.

Thankfully, this was a previous life of mine. But sometimes I still feel the hunger in the back of my head, a raging headache that will spiral into a migraine, then into a week in bed eating everything in sight and binging until I have to go grocery shopping again.

[storiesatdawn]

banh mi

When I was crying and sad, you'd take me to a vietnamese cafe for banh mi and iced coffee.

My hands were shaking, and my heart was fluttering, and there were silver linings to having an emotional breakdown. I watched you delicately place your pho noodles into the soup spoon, before holding your hair back with one hand and bringing the spoon to your lips with the other. Something about the pucker of your lips and your half closed eyes made me shy- I tried not to get caught staring.

This delicate, beautiful way of eating left an everlasting impression on me, and I think i've loved you intensely since. Not a lustful, sensual longing, but a heart-wrenching, gut thrashing need to know that you're safe and cared for and smiling somewhere- I don't want you to lift a finger. But I want you to do what makes you happy. I want you to stay tucked inside a safe, warm home, forever. But I want you to see beautiful sights and breathe beautiful clean air. I want you to be content to stay at home and take care of things at home and find fulfillment that way- but I know that you know the joy of making your place in the world.

Now I can't eat banh mi without thinking of you- from a completely different store, in a different city, surrounded by different people. The bread is different- tougher, it scrapes the top of your mouth. The vegetables are the same, but the Jalapeno tastes sweeter. This restaurant uses kewpie, but the cafe we went to before made and seasoned their own mayonnaise. Whenever I eat it by myself my heart shatters a little, and bits of it fall off into the abyss and I haven't seen them since.

[storiesatdawn]

mornings

She is wrapped in a blanket on a cold and rainy day.

Her legs are bare as are her arms, but her torso and lower body have 3 articles of clothing on them apiece. Her limbs stick out from the blanket awkwardly, her skin uncomfortably hot, legs steadying herself against the hardwood floor, her body held up by her bed.

Her hair is in disarray around her, all different lengths and colours, and she blinks two sleepy eyes slowly, adjusting to the notion of being awake, trying without trying too hard to remember and catalogue her dream for further research.

It is still dark out.

Her partner lays in bed, snoring softly, and she tosses the blanket over him to keep him there. Silently applauding herself on waking up before the sun, she tiptoes from their bedroom to their shared living room, opening the windows with a quick flick of her manicured fingers and a silent spell. She spreads out a bright yellow mat in anticipation, and begins to boil the water in the kettle with another flick of her hands. Coffee is soon to come. She takes her time, deliberately brushing her teeth slowly, taking inventory of each tooth and checking tentatively for cavities with each stroke of the brush. Her hair is tamed by magic- no manual brushing would get it to where she wanted it, enchanted brushes and all. A simple one piece is her outfit of choice, even against the biting, cold winter morning- she would warm up as her blood began to circulate. She grits her teeth, a slight irritation in her otherwise quiet morning, as she splashes cold water on her face and spreads cold cream afterwards. Necessary, but painful- no, not painful. That was so overly-dramatic it made her roll her own eyes- just uncomfortable, and only for a moment.

Deep breathing, meditation, stretching, yoga, pilates, calisthenics- a multitude of things, in no order, were on her list for the morning. The quiet atmosphere allowed an aura of serenity to flow from her crown to her neck, down her back and throughout her limbs. Even if just for the morning, there was peace in her mind and body.

[storiesatdawn]

if i was going to write chapter one in my autobiography, would we start at the beginning? I was born in May, when flowers were blooming and it was just warm enough to enjoy the air outside.

The middle of my life is somewhere around puberty, when I had scorned the mother who birthed me and began to seek the attention of men & women whose names I wouldn't remember come 10 years.

And currently, I am just starting out- like I've been born again. I've made peace with my mother, my father, my siblings, and I have people who I call friends and I speak with them and share my feelings and let them into my life.

I have a partner, who I share a home and a life with. We are very different, but every day is at least interesting if it isn't happy.

I practice magic, tarot, consult the stars & the spirits. Sometimes it's frustrating- I throw it all to the floor and take a nap in utmost comfort, surrounded by sheep made from the golden clouds. My skin is dyed in sunlight, my hair is a pale golden.

Everyday all I can do is choose to be happy. I work towards my goals, and I paint my paintings and I drink my coffee and I speak only words that I know to be true.

I will be gentle to those around me, kind & considerate. If it is in my power to do something, I hope that I will do it. I will draw boundaries to those inside and outside of my circle, and prioritize my well-being. I will find the balance between taking care of myself and taking care of those important to me. I will reach the peak of health and happiness and have children who are important to me, not because I want to be loved unconditionally but because i want to start a family.

[storiesatdawn]

tw : mention of smoking, substance abuse

two ladies were squatting next to eachother, smoke fanned around them, strangely stagnant as though there was no movement in the air around them. completely still.

The blonde one, petite with blonde & pink hair, tied intricately into two large buns on either side of her head, took a drag from her long pipe, taking her time with it, exhaling the smoke in a dragons breath.

Her companion, with intricately plaited locks of lilac and eyed her enviously, taking a quick puff from the brightly colored pipe and spitting out the smoke with a swiftness, large circles that made their home in the smoke around them.

Their crude actions were contrasted directly by their choice of dress- ornate dresses hung off their bodies, bright flowery colors in shiny fabrics and shoes that looked like jewels. Each were adorned in flattering colors of various shades, jewels and crystals hung off them in excess.

Similarly dressed folks fluttered about them, gentlepeople in various colours, all engaged in their own fixations. Marime's oral fixation was not out of place, but the stagnant, pale coloured smoke made most of the guests do a double take.

"Be more conspicuous, would you," the lilac coloured creature's bell like voice had turned scathing and sarcastic, and the gap could only make Marime laugh. She loved beautiful and poisonous creatures, just as much as she loved sugary sweet, and it tickled her fascination to know that she could coexist with them.

[storiesatdawn]

dearest stupid little non-binary sibling,

just how far does it go, being siblings.

If you asked I would give you both of my lungs and my heart- but I'd rather die than see you wearing my favorite dress. No, actually, I would kill you myself.

You like to push my buttons and get a reaction out of me, and I like to respond and give you the reaction that you want- likewise, when I'm bored, I can cast a hex on you and have full confidence that you will realize and break it within a day.

You despise my partner- it'd be funny if it wasnt hurtful, the things you said. He's not like me- he doesn't have years upon years of camaraderie, growing up, knowing how you speak experience with you. You go too far and you hurt him- and then you hurt me too.

We became distant somehow. I don't know what you look like half the time- and I took my pretty pink hair and put blonde in it to look more like you. Looking at pictures of you now, you dyed your hair black.

Mom hasn't heard from you in years, Lyion. Send her a letter, a note, let her know you're alive- she wont invade your privacy and scry you from a distance. No news, is good news, she'd tell me. Except when she's wondering if you're still alive, if you're being treasured as you should.

Samson, Princeton, you've always been better at keeping us together. You started families of your own, little children of mixed blood run freely around your homes and it makes me laugh, knowing how full of hatred you were at mixed children just years ago. Time does change the things that need to be changed- but you have to look at it from a certain angle to see, sometimes.

Anyways, I've gone on and on and on and can't remember why I started writing to you. Just remember there is no enemy like a sister who hasn't heard back from you in years. I will find you, and I will steal all your good potions.

Love you lots, sometimes,

Marime

[storiesatdawn]

mommy

I wont ever stop calling you mommy. I'm sorry I called you so many worse things during my adolescence- there are so many things to be sorry for.

I adore you to the point that it hurts. I named myself after you. I wanted to paint flowers like you did. You taught me everything i love about myself, although I see a lot of your lover in me as well.

Why is it that Ring can hurts us in every way possible and we would still revere him? And that we ask the impossible of you and are upset when you bring down the stars and not the moon?

You are so beautiful- deny it all you want, but it is still a part of you. Your raven hair, now with streaks of gray in it, and your powerful body that held 4 children from God himself. It's a wonder you stay as put together as you are. You don't modify yourself- your skin glows with all it's imperfections as is.

You love all parts of yourself and it shows. The gratitude you show your body is evident in the nourishment you provide, and have provided for your children as well. You take care of it- never letting it rest too long for fear of rust- never letting it work too hard and breaking it.

Always I hated myself, but mostly Sterling, for taking away your independence. You've always wanted to do so many things- you were and are still capable of so much. But now you're tired, you say. You raised 4 would-be gods, sometimes witches, and now you just want to rest and enjoy yourself. I curse Ring and all 3 of my siblings for existing, but I mostly curse myself.

I'm Sorry Ethel, I love you Ethel. Thank you mom.

[storiesatdawn]

dad

we weren't distant enough for me to call you father, but I had outgrown calling you papa.

There was a period of time where you had asked me to call you Roy, which made me deeply uncomfortable but not as much as it confused me for it was neither a given name nor a nickname I was aware of.

Did you pick out a new name just so that we would have something to call you?

Were you known by Roy in places that we didn't know about?

Why couldn't you have chosen something else- why couldn't I call you Ring as my mother had?

Yeah, maybe that was asking too much.

My desire for answers were outweighed by my silly adolescence, and enough time had pasesd for things to become awkward.

I ended up never calling you directly again.

My father, Ring, him

You, over there, old man,

I especially hated people who referred to their parents rudely. Here I was doing the same thing. I revered you.

I wanted to know more about you, the realm you loved, how you loved my mother, what did you even rule over? Why was there so little humans who worshipped you, compared to others? What was I meant to do with these gifts that you gave me? Why did you give them to me?

I wonder when I'll get the chance to ask them. You're going away again, and I tear up against my will. I was happy just to spend time with you. Walk with you, talk with you, have a meal together. It made me happier than I could say.

[storiesatdawn]

then, tomorrow

i am comforted to know that you exist

maybe tomorrow we'll say hello

definitely tomorrow i'll say hello

and the day after i'll ask how you are

dear my future friend what have you been doing since before we met? did you fall in love already? how many times, and with who? Have you ever had your soul touched and your heart stolen and your mind inspired? How many times a week do you do something you regret? Are you where you thought you'd be? Is your favorite food still your favorite food, and are you taking care of your health?

Dear my future friend

Have I told you lately how much I love you? It's a lot, although I'm worried for all the wrong reasons. Platonic & Romantic are increasingly harder for me to understand, and if I don't understand it myself, how can I believe that I am expressing myself comfortably? I love you and that's all I know.

Dear my future friend

Is there somewhere else you'd rather be? I wish you'd go there and be happy. Is there someone you want to talk to? Please talk to them. Then, tomorrow you can do it again, and the day after do something more. So that the day where there are no more tomorrows, there aren't any regrets.

[storiesatdawn]

insp : sleepless nights

tw : panic, anxiety mentions of abuse

sometimes it's something I don't even understand.

Incense that smells slightly different, or a flavor that I'd forgotten or a recipe that needed to be made.

I end up listening to music and whittle the night away, hour by hour, my blinks lessen as my eyes struggle to stay open.

Usually during these nights I am manic. I deep clean the freezer and steam clean the floors

Piles of socks that I had never before bothered to pair, couple up and stay together happily in the drawer for months at a time.

Old clothes are thrown away[donated to the sheep, usually] and I'm so active in my various activities that it overwhelms and worries my partner.

His worried voice floats from the other room, stern but just enough concern to give him away.

"I think it's time for you to sleep,"

simple and boring dialogue, from a simple but not boring man.

He knows I wont listen, but would rip himself in two if he didn't at least try to look out for me. I shake my head stubbornly- taurus sun.

"Who knows when I'll have so much energy again," my explanation is weak, but true. Most days I am nearly comatose with lethargy.

Other nights it is an extension of my lethargy

There's no reason not to sleep- but there's no reason to sleep either. I'll sit with my back to the window, imagine myself falling through it and into the dark sky below me. The moon shines beautifully, but it only serves to hurt my eyes. I am blind to it's beauty.

Unable to move, or muster more than whimper, I am caged by my own body. All I can do is blink blankly at the wall and wait for it to pass. My mind swirls faster than I can comprehend, although bits and pieces of it make its way from the torrent of information into my consciousness.

Anxiety, plans for tomorrow, worry for my health, worry for my mortal partner, worry for my health, worry for Ethel and her poisonous affection for humans and their venomous dislike of her, concern for Lyion and their struggle with their identity,

idle thoughts about people I've hurt in the past, wondering if they still think of me or are made to stay awake at night from the wounds i've given them

The guilt of my existence, the people I've hurt and the souls I've tampered with and the animals I've eaten and the trees I've destroyed and the waste I've created and the pain and suffering I caused Ring. Ring. The man I love against all reason, who was verbally abusive, physically abusive, has inflicted some sort of psychological damage to every member of who I consider to be my family, whos connection I refuse to cut because of the mixed feelings of gratitude and love and warmth and compassion.

Eventually Day finds me. At this point my eyes are completely dry, but the tear marks down my cheeks tell all. The panic and feeling of overwhelming less are muffled underneath my physical reaction to my partner. And I am lifted gently- gently, but still jolted. My body wrapped in blankets, and he is as delicate as he can be, the brute that he is. A pillow is placed on the bed, my head laid upon it, and he knows that I will ask for another pillow to hold while I nestle my body against his torso- so he gives it to me before my voice can travel through my throat.

I know he gets no sleep because of my episodes. The guilt of it wrestles with my pleasure of being cared for. Pleasure wins, and my body reacts instantly- I am humming with love and happiness, and he snorts at my sudden mood swing- unsurprised, but still amused.

[storiesatdawn]

even still

tw : suicide, death, loss

life goes on, and when days seem to drag, the years will pass quickly. although your voice doesn't drift through the clouds anymore, the skies don't acknowledge your absence.

I will never be touched by your sticky fingers again, breath hot and sweet from the sugar in the fruits it's different from being drunk, but it's giddy all the same. we'll never make music together again, two voices with an excess of consideration, a piano and a violin will gather dust in the home we once lived in, and I hope the rotted, fossilized remains of those two instruments remain stuck together forever.

I'll never play the violin again.

peaches fall off trees, make their way to a new land, end up setting down roots in a rich new earth They grow new green leaves, and produce ripe golden peaches and it starts all over again.

A peach doesn't know its mother, living in a far off land, becoming more and more wrinkled by the minute, producing more bitter fruits by the hour.

A tree doesn't know it's daughter or if she survived, if she had daughters of her own to reproduce and carry on the sweetness from their curved bodies, fuzzy skin & warm colors.

[storiesatdawn]

i beg and beg,

don't forget that i love you.

my heart swims with the fullness that is you,

from the curve of your lips to your secret moles,

the slight gap in your teeth and the lines of aging that appear in certain angles only,

your cowlick and your messiness and your ditziness and your silliness

I won't ever forsake you, I'll love you forever

just don't forget that we shared fingertips and slow conversations,

we had a unique, 2 way unrequited love.

If you do happen to forget, that I love you,

and you end up somehow hating yourself

I want you to take a hot shower and let it scald your heart.

Turn on some music, any kind, just loud enough that you can hear it over the running water. Make sure it's hot and that your skin, cold and numb, warms to the heat.

Once the tub is finished filling, or the water from the showerhead has finished heating, sit down in it. Rest, actively. Visualize the vibrations from the music entering your body, the steam from the heat caress the scars on your skin, and seep through your body into your soul. Will tears rise to your eyes, and wont they be something sharp and painful? No, it's just sweat from the heat. Go ahead, sweat it out. Nobody can see you, hear you, look for you. Your loneliness has turned into bliss.

Take care of yourself. Slowly, leisurely. Brush your hair out, or massage your scalp as you deserve. Stroke your lymph areas, drain the toxins and negativity from your soul. You can work in quick, precise motions or take it slow & strong. Your body knows what it needs now- let it work on itself.

Heal.

[storiesatdawn]

happy lambs

one of the greatest joys in Marimes' life is to share hotpot with her loved ones,

vegetarian for her fluffy friends whomst live with her in the clouds,

green zucchini, a clean, clear base that is flavorful without being salty.

An abundance of mushrooms, white and brown, skinny and bulbous, lending an earthy taste and smell to the broth.

The steam wafted from the golden pot, the pot itself larger than the womans torso.

Once the broth was boiling, add wide rice noodles, chopped cabbage and tofu.

Once cooked through, remove toppings of choice from the broth with chopsticks into various bowls, and ladle in a generous serving of the milky broth.

The lambs delighted in the savoury flavor, the warmth making them sweat beneath their golden coats-

For her two legged loved ones, depending on dietary preferences, Mar was known to add spice, meat, & various types of seafood.

The broth had globs of oil, red & orange in colour, floating around in a crimson soup. Vermicelli noodles swam freely, cooking quickly, removed after no more than 3 minutes by various nimble chopsticks. The pure white, delicately cut fish fillet absorbed the spicy, salty broth, while the crisp of the fresh lettuce offered a much needed reprieve from the layers of meat, savory broth, and salty dipping sauces.