aphelia .| summits

[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

EUNICE
LEORA
SUMMIT

They say sorry; a thousand beggars kneeling before my throne, which men say are crafted from the bones of a ghost girl -- Stella Summit.

I am a hurricane girl, and the marrow of my pedestal is not of my sister dearest, nor are the dead vines that snake across our crumbling mansion her veins.

She was not here in life, so she's not here in death.

("We're sorry for your loss, Eunice."

"I've lost nothing.")

And Stella Summit had been something.

---

Daylight scorches me, and the laughter of Stella Summit tries desperately to drive me mad -- a faint remnant of a memory that never was. I linger in the solace of shadows to protect myself, dark light wrapped around pale skin like a cloak. I walk through halls mourning something that I refuse to believe no longer exists, and I stab my ears with the nails Belle once used to seal Stella's door shut -- her gleeful sounds no longer haunt me, but I hear her screams. My sister could not reach me in life, though I tried desperately to free her from her makeshift cage of a broken mind, and it terrifies me that I see her so often now that her body no longer rests within these four walls that have never been a home. It was I who raised my family, with a gone man for a father, paired with a drunkard for a mother -- the Summit legacy is mine, and though mere children scratch at my crown, such as Blanche, only I can handle the burden of toxic blood dripping into wide eyes; my world is stained in red, true, but I've survived for these last eighteen years -- and nothing can kill me, or us.

("Sorry about Stella, Eunice.")

'Sorry' cuts me down like a knife, but my stubborn ways heal my wounds before they get the chance to fester. The village of Seven pounds at the doors of my castle, screeching that I am unfit to rule, but instead I listen to the burning of my domain without a single wince -- 'cause I am not a mad queen, and my sister is not dead; just a body stolen from my steel talons, and I want her back.

I, the queen of many names -- bloody, mad, lost, alone, broken, -- raise my sword, and though my fire has been blackened by the night and foolish men look upon me with pity, no one can doubt the weight of my iron fist.

One that I will send crashing down upon the coffin of Stella Summit.

---

The night prior I had sent word to a select few members of my family, rushed and quick sentences, giving no explanation when asked. The day of, I had paced from hall to hall throughout the morning, questioning my sanity, and with a bloody smile at my reflection in the restroom, I had told myself that I was fine -- and even if I truly had not been, I soon would be. 'Cause my princess is finally coming home.

Walking down the stairs of my mansion upon the arrival of dusk, I smile at my sisters and brothers and cousins before me, hands tying up my hair as my lips settle into a smirk. "I called you all here for a reason," I say sharply, walking to a shovel propped up against the wall. "The Games stole something from me -- from us. And I need her back." I pick up the tool, running one of my fingers down the splintered wood. "I hear what people say about Stella -- that she's dead, and that I need to let her go, but I can't. I can't do what is asked of me, as you all know, and there is something that I need to do, but I need each of you for it to work."

I make my way to the nearby dining room, pulling back a cloth upon the table within the room's center. Crowbars and shovels and other objects line its surface, and I smile at my kin. "I don't care if they say she's dead, or if she no longer breathes, or if I'm actually fucking mad. All I know is that Stella was is our family, and she belongs in this house -- not under a fucking pile of dirt." I thrust at the floor with my shovel, causing a large clang to echo around us.

"Tonight, we're going to bring Stella Summit home -- who's with me?"

OOC: 

This thread is reserved for myself, Avalon, Briar, Zoë, Dars, Arx, Frankel, and Grim -- also known as: Eunice, Blanche, Cynthia, Belle, Tarian, Valor, Helen, and Celeste.

table: zoë

[d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel]

[googlefont="Architects Daughter"]

Helen Summit

I might as well be drowning in that dirt with her.

Time scratching away at my skin, peeling away the last ounce of my body…just like her.

The earth chiseling away at my bones, eroding me piece by piece…just like her.

They all wish it was me and not her. None of them admit it purposely but I can see it falling from their words.

There would not be much mourning for me, not from any one of them. They would not have lost their minds like they have with her, my sister would have most certainly not ended up bed ridden like so. There would have been few mourners in little time and all would be forgotten.

When she died, I knew I had the chance, the chance to actually be loved by my family. However it seems that I have to even fight a dead girl for the attention that I deserve.

Stella Summit was a burden on me in life…and death.

Shrinking me, all four of these oak walls want to trap me in this life that I try so hard to climb out. This room has set a curse on me, a curse to be compelled to stay put. To stay put in the life that I no longer want to continue. I don’t want to end it; I just want to restart it again. Wipe clean the slate that my writer has written on and find myself another author. It’s their fault, it is whoever has the strings attached to me up there. The have plotted every single part of my life, they wiped away my limb but when I beg for mercy, they never listen. Whoever they are, they have no soul, no meaning in life but to destroy my own. I hope they’re having fun erasing me one piece at a time because soon it will all end. I’ll be erasing myself from their grip.

I am told my family is swarmed by the “paparazzi” of District Seven, just because of the dead girl. None of us deserve such celebrations; we are allowed one of our own to be swiped away. Many from Seven have fallen, three fell alongside Stella and I never see such attention for them. Never have I seen the names of the other boys and girls float around in this house, what makes Stella so special? Soon she’ll just be another name, another loser to the lottery of death. Another soul the Capitol has harvested. Another lifeless body sent back home in a box. It’s been a year; my family has to get over it. Now.

None of them know how I feel. It’s not because I hide it from them, it’s because they don’t ask. Never have I ever had a full conversation with any of my family. Whenever I try to get one into full swing, they tattle off because they’re ‘too busy.’ I am just the invisible Summit, the forgotten ‘stubby girl’ who still lives by childhood nicknames for they’re the only memories I have of them; teasing me because of my writer’s twisted storyline.

Twenty four hours ago, a rather rare knock on my door awoke me from my late evening nap. ”You’re needed tomorrow night Helen.” And then, the messenger left. Needed? When is Helen Summit ever needed? Was I to be scolded? Had my writer blown a whistle on my thoughts? For whatever I was needed for, I was intrigued. Does my family have plans for me? But then, they can only be bad…Although I must play along with such plans. It may be my chance to redeem myself, the chance for me to earn the attention I deserve.

"I called you all here for a reason," It is Eunice that has requested my help, the so called self-made queen of the main family. I am surrounded by my cousins and it seems my brothers and sister were not worthy enough for such help but what makes me so special for this task?

I don't care if they say she's dead, or if she no longer breathes, or if I'm actually fucking mad. All I know is that Stella was is our family, and she belongs in this house -- not under a fucking pile of dirt."

Is she right in her head? Well of course not Helen. She plans for us to dig up the dead girl. What does she believe to be down there? A young life full body? Have the worms that live below the surface of the earth revived Stella? But I can’t question it; this is my chance to be noticed. I can be the one that “helped” dig up the dead girl.

”I am with you.” Splashing itself across my face, my old friend a smile would make an appearance. Collecting my tool for the night, a shovel, I’d drag it along the tiled floor. Sending such an obnoxious noise, I’d be unaware of the scratches marching from the blade of the shovel onto the floor tiles. Excitement has blinded me, I am not excited to see Stella, I am excited to see if my plan succeeds.

Helen Summit, the girl who is now slightly visible.

[я𝑜𝓈𝑒]

[presto]

CYNTHIA S U M M I T

[/presto]

{ dig up her bones
but leave the soul alone
boy with a broken soul
heart with a gaping hole ;

Misery, pain, and paradise.
Entwined into the frame of her bones these things have never left me, for neither has she; she is twisted into every breath of the sky, roaring through my hair, she has uprooted herself into my heart with the doors carelessly left ajar, she has scored herself into every square inch of my skin that crawls with the call of her phantom.

She is my -
misery,
pain,
and paradise.

They say the dead are gone; I disagree. Bound to a prison six feet under, Stella is merely away for now - but she's coming home, and she's coming home tonight. She is sailing from the hissing darkness back into our saving arms, lead by the beacon of the stars and the song of the moonlight. I have felt her presence caressing my skin - nothing more than this could rattle my bones like a thousand earthquakes.

We will save her and in turn, she will save us. The darkness of the gaping hole left in the Summit home only flourishes with the excruciating absence of Stella, but she will fall back into the place she left when she drifted from the haven of our arms and into - into wherever it is the dead wander after their breath has broken - and make us whole again.

Stella
Stell
Stel
Ste
St
S
Sa
Sav
Savi
Savio
Savior.

Our empire -
its shattering towers and rusting swords must bring disgust across Eunice's features. The dark veil of night cast upon her face masks everything from me, with the exception of the outline of her frame. And darkness looks so lovely draped across her body - or perhaps it is just that I cherish being free of her image.
But the black cannot shelter us from her commanding voice, snaking through the blackness.

"I called you all here for a reason."
(Though I cannot see them - not yet -
I hear the bared fangs in her voice.)
"The Games stole something from me - from us."
(Those sly, sly crooks.)
"And I need her back."

There is a crown upon her head and it is crafted by our open ears and open hearts, placed so gently in her claw-like hands with trust. (Mother Eunice knows best.) Her Majesty bears no seething falsehoods upon her serpentine tongue - not tonight, not when our beloved lies broken in a coffin, calling out our names in distress.

(We're coming, Stella. We're coming.)

"I hear what people say about Stella - that she's dead, and that I need to let her go, but I can't do what is asked of me, as you all know, and there is something that I need to do, but I need each of you for it to work."

(Anything for you, my queen.)

Ebony curtains part for Her Majesty, and she graces down the rest of the staircase she stood elevated upon with the elegance of a black swan. Her movements are more of liquid than flesh and bone and my eyes refuse to abandon her.

Sashaying into the dining room, kissed with the darkness of the night alike to the rest of the mansion, she uncovers arrays of what looks like a mechanic's dream - various tools such as shovels and crowbars are laid out on the center of the table.

And ice creeps across her face in a smile; a bullet of cold races down my spine.

"I don't care if they say she's dead, or if she no longer breathes, or if I'm actually fucking mad. All I know is that Stella is our family, and she belongs in this house --
not under a fucking pile of dirt."

The truth glistens like a promise upon her lips, and I cannot help but to be enticed by the light of determination dancing in her eyes.
(And I do not dare glance at the poison, determination's partner.)

She pounds once against the floor with the head of her shovel, like a scepter in her hand, sending a wave of an echo throughout the dining room.
(And I swear, the crystal chandelier above our heads trembles against her might.)

"Tonight, we're going to bring Stella Summit home -
who's with me?"
(I dare not hear this as anything but a demand.)

I know where my allegiances lie; I am with you, Euinice, serpent or not.

My throat permits me no words, only the slight nod of my head and a steady gaze into the darkness that engulfs our ruler.

{ dark twisted fantasy turned to reality
kissing death and losing my breath
midnight hours, cobble street passages
forgotten savages, forgotten savages ;

. . .

table: fox.
lyrics: "bones" by ms mr.

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

T A R I A N
S U M M I T

What was death to the one who held the blade?

What was rain to the cloud that fell apart?

"A part of life," Tarian Summit thought.

(Though did he truly care either way?

"No.")

He greeted the death of one with whom he'd shared a womb, among everything else in his previously dull life. Parties were shared, one cake split down the middle, presents bought in pairs song sang alike: His life had never belonged to just him. He was never Tarian Summit alone, but Tarian and Stella: The Summit twins. And deep down, he thought perhaps he'd always hoped she'd die.

Perhaps not in the games, not necessarily. He was sure now that if the Capitol had not done his bidding for him he would have eventually gotten around to it when his their schedules permitted.

And every time those snotty nosed, heavy breathed lunatics felt the need to lay hands on his shoulder and give him their deepest condolences, ("We're so sorry for your loss, Tarian. Losing a sister? A twin sister? It must be awful,") He wanted nothing more to be honest with them all:

("I'm not sorry. Not at all.")

But he played his part well. As far as they all knew, the shoulder they consoled belonged to a grieving boy, broken by circumstance and haunted by cruel fate. He would keep it that way for the rest of his days, because in the end, how had it mattered? She was gone now. He was alone, with his own birthdays and his own presents and cakes. The attention would be wholly on him for the first time in his life, and unlike his sister, he had not sold his soul to death in order to get it.

Stella was gone, and the others would surely follow. (Oh, how he hoped.) Time and grown and grass netted itself over her grave, erasing the evidence that her body lied beneath, with the exception of one gray stone reading her name. They gathered around by request of Eunice, who, in Tarian's own opinion, was just as much a lost soul as the one rotting beneath the ground. "Please, Tar. Just come." Typically, he would have merely rolled his eyes and slammed his bedroom door in her face, but he found himself oddly interested in his psychotic sisters plans. The gathered round and stared at the emptiness, and they must have all seen something Tarian could not see.

"It's a rock with her name scratched into it," he wanted to remind them, but chose not to. He saved his words for the time when they were needed.

Which, apparently, was mere seconds after, when Eunice finally let the bird out of its cage.

"Tonight, we're going to bring Stella Summit home -- who's with me?" he swallowed back a laugh. She was truly completely mad, wasn't she? Or perhaps he was. "I am," called Helen, while the others all began to weep.

"You idiots want to bring a corpse home? You're actually considering this?" This time he didn't hold back his laugh. He let it roar into he open sky, a perfect combat against the whimpers and gasps. "Stella Summit," he said directly to Eunice, "is dead. And if she wasn't when she got here, she certainly is by now." With a wipe of the tear of joy that spilled onto his cheek, he turned his back to them.

"And I thought I was crazy."

He never looked back as he stalked away.

He really didn't care, did he?

("Not a bit.")

{ credit to: zoë }

THEY HOLD US DOWN LIKE ANCHORS
THEY'LL DROWN US OUT AT SEA
IT'S IN ALL THE PAPERS
WE HAVE TO LET THEM SINK

ooc: go easy on little bitty dars okay he's kind of been dead for a spell

[Avalon]

B L A N C H E
S U M M I T

I'd taught myself to walk on two broken feet, the loss of a girl who was no longer is drawn by the passing days. The room she resided was her own personal gravestone- tomb in which she drifted off into senseless bliss. A hardship fought in the likes of no one, and though Stella had thought it was best to be alone, trapped in a paradise- where one could just as easily crash and burn- she tripped and found her feet grounded amongst the underside of her floral canopy. It was the vines that wrapped around her ankles, suffocating her in their toxic embrace, in which her demise was lead by, truly.


Flowers burning in the palms of my hands, each one collected for the days Stella'd been gone from us and sent to the Capitol. Reminiscent of the funeral, family member gathered around one another for the mourning of a ghost who was never truly fit for a life among the living. Dropping rise upon rose down a chamber where the body of a girl, who was already long gone, was making her final resting place. The feeling of thorns as they pricked my fingers, and the blood drew in three- two- one streams to each crack and crevice, made me the prey of nostalgia.

("No one will ever be a crutch to you, Blanche. Learn to walk on your own.")

I'd taught myself to stagger on two broken feet. The loss of a girl who is no longer is marked by the silent running in a room that was made bordered to keep the memories contained. There were very few, though, and anything worth acknowledging was the slammed face in between the cracks of a wooden door. The creaking hinges left a painstaking sound that scratched against my ear drum, even more so than the floor board that was never nailed shut. It all remains, in this one room, where four walls sit perfectly like a square, and the only thing that led her to the world of truth was a grime dusted window, and a door that remained locked.

("You'll meet her one day, and she's very very pretty. She may be lost, but she'll find a way. And when she smiles, you'll love her.")

Stella was a bouquet of flowers, but she carried the scent of grief and despair. A confusing girl she was made out to be, but she was a sister to me none the less. It wasn't until the time of her death- watching her step foot on the stage which led into the Justice Building that I couldn't come to realize how much lack of appreciation I'd had for a girl who was guided in the wrong direction.  Made death bent ever since the day she was born into a world where a shell would remain, she found a life in the paradise of her mind. I couldn't refrain from thinking how lost she must've been, but never came to see that a whole universe flourished in her mind, and you could see it in her eyes.

("Stella was never lonely, she had a whole world of her own in her mind.")

I'd taught myself to stumble- trip- fall on two broken feet. Wrapping around my ankles I felt grounded by the life I lived, where my tongue was cut from my mouth in regards to Stella. Words only spoken when we were younger I'd given up on attempts to help fix a girl who only acknowledged me with doors shut in my face and a silence that spoke louder than words. The only words ever spoken were from the nonsense spoken from siblings who'd gone even more crazy than Tarian himself-

"Tonight, we're going to bring Stella Summit home -- who's with me?"

A tongue that was cut from my mouth once, figuratively, was capable of keeping the words held only at its tip. Instead, I grab a shovel before wrapping my arm around Eunice, then jumping on her back.

{ credit to: zoë }

STOLEN HELPLESS
FROM YOUR
SUNSHINE GARDEN

[✨ zozo.]

BELLE SUMMIT

This is not my family.

Family are supposed to take care of each-other, not rip each-other apart and nail our doors shut and claw at our faces. Family are supposed to grieve together, not shrink off to our own corners and process the loss of Stella individually and pretend like she was our whole world. I am not proud of this house and it's residence. I was not proud of Stella Summit. She found another family in that arena, if only for a short while. A family that cared for her always, no matter what, until her dying breath.

This is not Stella Summit's family. Not anymore.

My real family members are strewn across the district like dots on a map. Our veins don't share blood but they share the streets that we roam, blue and red sliding underneath our skin and spilling against the concrete. Some are frequent faces. Others are here and there, once in a blue moon. But they all take me in as if I had been one of them my entire life. I belong there, out in the streets of outcasts and lost children tired of their deranged homes.

("What's your name?"

"Belle."

"Well come on inside then, Bluebell. You're freezing cold.")

And they stripped me of my infamous last name as I shed my family's skin and never spoke of it again. I liked it that way. I felt free, not constricted underneath the madness that lingered in the skulls of my siblings and the walls of my home. Poor, lost Stella, who they fawned over and didn't volunteer for and shrieked in agony when she came back in a coffin like she ever stood a chance against the terror in that place. I didn't want to be her sister anymore. I didn't want to belong to any of them.

("Where you going, Bluebell?"

"I have to go home. Just for a while."

"Thought you said that this was your home."

"I know.")

I come back to madness like I've never seen it before.

"Tarian is right" I speak up from the outskirts, perched on the dining room table. "You're all fucking insane."

My feet find the floor and I rise above their chaos. "But if you're going to do this, you're going to do it the right way."

Palms throw a flashlight between my hands, flying back and forth through the air. "You lead the way, Eunice."

You lead this family to a prison cell and bullets in our heads.

AND WHEN THEY SAID
THAT WHAT I WANTED  WAS A FIGMENT
I HAD TO TURN THE OTHER CHEEK
BUT I WAS LISTENING, LISTENING TO ALL

[grim.]

C E L E S T E

S U M M I T

I'd give anything to leave the confinement of these four walls. I had felt like a wounded dear now surrounded my those who thirst for my inside. Is this how "family" was supposed to feel? I am unsure of the reasoning for being called here, it all seemed so unreal. Our family wasn't known for communication, especially not my sister and I. I found peace in being alone, interaction just made for complication.

This mansion id Eunice's had felt suffocating. Despite the large space, I felt short of air. There were a few uncomfortable looks shared between us all. I didn't speak, my words were not welcome in a place of insanity like this. With the scuff of a stair, I watch as Eunice descends from above. Her face flickering between the group of us.

 "I called you all here for a reason," she says

I watch as her palm stretches around a near by shovel. My chest rising and falling in agony, I missed the fresh oxygen that radiated form the trees, I missed my freedom. 

"The Games stole something from me -- from us. And I need her back." her tone begins to make me shutter.

I glance to the eyes around me, feeling the urge to run. What could she mean by that? The games were something that tore families apart, but we had already been torn apart. The games had no affect on the relationships we hadn't tried hard enough to maintain. I feel sorrow in knowing that the faces with which bring me the most fear, are those I recognize best. 

"I hear what people say about Stella -- that she's dead, and that I need to let her go, but I can't. I can't do what is asked of me, as you all know, and there is something that I need to do, but I need each of you for it to work."  My feet shuffle beneath me, what could possibly be bumbling through her thick skull?

Stella is dead, there is no other explanation. I watch the girl fall with my own two eyes, but the worst of it was that I felt much less pain then I had thought I would. I hated myself for a long time, because I should have loved harder, but love wasn't the issue, it was my knack for understanding death. It scared me that the blood of family wasn't the least unnerving. Eunice pulls a cloth from the dining room table, it reveals many of tools. Most of which pointed out her goal to dig. My hand rushed over my mouth, Eunice wanted to harass the dead, bring them unease. This was all too predictable, mother nature must never be taunted. Death would find Eunice if she sees this through. Death would not take lightly what was going to take place on this very night.

I look over to Valor his face so young, his mind is being distorted by the fucked up imagination of Eunice. I'm sure he feels confusion, he doesn't know what to believe. He was so impressionable, and I would not let him become like them, they were insane. But I was too weak to run, I was too weak to defy the authority of Eunice. 

"I don't care if they say she's dead, or if she no longer breathes, or if I'm actually fucking mad. All I know is that Stella was is our family, and she belongs in this house -- not under a fucking pile of dirt."  she snaps.

We would be releasing a curse over this wretched family, but we were already so broken, that it made no difference.

 "Tonight, we're going to bring Stella Summit home -- who's with me?" I watch as her eyes look to those that give in. Blanche, Helen, Cynthia, and Belle. The only soul strong enough to lash out is Tarian. I wanted to follow him, to walk in his bravery, but I could do no such thing. I look to my right, reaching to Valor's hand. I feel his small fingers intertwine with mine, if we were going to do this I would be his guard. I would do everything in my power to shield him from those who aim to disrupt his youth. I could not let him age in the pain that is us Summits. I look down to Valor, and then to Eunice, nodding my head, and reaching to the table for a crowbar. I hand it to Valor, and then grab a shovel of my own.

We will wonder down paths of which mortals have no right, if blade finds depth to any of our hearts, Eunice will have blood stained hands, I hope she can cope with the death of family. If family is what you call us. 

{ credit to: zoë }

Thou shall not metal
with which is above their power,
through dirt and dusk,
till skin and bone.

[arx!!]

VALOR SUMMIT

With hands stained red and enough curiosity to kill thousands of cats, you wander through the woods. Your mother had told you to behave. She had told you to return before dark. She had told you to stay away from the blackberry patch—

"I don't want you spoiling your dinner, okay?"

"Okay, I won't."

—but alas your fingers stick together as the juice dries blood red against your pale hands.

The sun sinks lower in the sky, turning the leaves that scatter the ground deeper reds, oranges, and yellows. You imagine dancing through oceans of fire, kicking up leaves as you go, burning everything in your path. But you are not a destructive boy; you are merely curious.

How many leaves does every tree have?

Why do the leaves change color?

What makes blackberries taste so good?

You take pause before the grand mansion, your neck bent at an odd angle to take it all in. It's beautiful, grand. You wonder what sorts of stories are etched into the floorboards, what treasures are hidden behind the walls. But more than anything, you wonder:

What does a dead body look like?

After all that's why you came, why your legs have carried you this far from home without your sister or your parents. You heard the whispers—"Apparently they have plans to dig up her bones."—through the your bedroom walls. The rumor piqued your interest, sparking the boyish rebelliousness that got you to the front steps of Summit Manor.

You enter and everything has already begun. Seven of your older cousins, all with faces you barely recognize. Do you even know them? Can you recall their names?

("I hear what people say about Stella -- that she's dead, and that I need to let her go, but I can't.")

No. But Stella is a name that will forever remain stuck in your memory. She crawls through your nightmares; she chants, chants, chants--- "You're next!" --- with a knife protruding from her eye. You wake up in a cold sweat. You cry as silently as you can. You wish upon every star in the sky that your name is never pulled from the bowl, that you never have to be like Stella.

Dead.

You didn't know it until just now. Just as the story of Stella's return has concluded, you feel it—fear. You wanted to see a dead body, but you hadn't considered what it meant, how terrifying cousin Eunice was, or just how heavy a crowbar could be. There are mixed reviews regarding her performance, but all in all, you watch as they follow Eunice's lead with little reluctance.

You feel a hand slip into your own and you take it graciously, taking a step closer to the cousin whose name you can't remember, finding comfort in her gesture. Even the crowbar she hands you feels lighter, warmer than your terrified mind had imagined.

What does a dead body look like?

Don't you know, child? Her name is Stella.

And she is not dead.

{ credit to: zoë }

it's hard to be what you need
through a static screen
been trying to speak
for weeks and weeks