mind over matter makes these things feel so real // briar

[jj jenkins d7. ✨ zozo.]

C H R I S T I A N   B E L L A V A N C E

There are no circles around Freya.

No red and black lines overlapping, no cursed name hastily stitched together, no round and round and round endlessly searching for purpose. She is full and proper and perfectly right, head held high, pride swallowed for the sake of her future. Poised to strike - and he sees her behind all of the regal upbringing, hidden underneath the seriousness ingrained into her features. He sees her smile in moments. Sees the sunset hit her face, halo of light in her hair, the girl he grew up chasing around gardens and woods and fields of gold.

There is only a heart-string, tugging occasionally, a single line connecting their lives together. Foreign hands clutch at it with disapproving vigor, they shake their heads and whisper, empty words that fall short between them both. With Freya, there are no spat words and closed doors, no bastard painted on his forehead in blood. With Freya, there are no circles, no overlapping lines, no hate, no shame.

Only unspoken words.

He loves his brother. The only other person in this world that does not belittle him for his heritage. A stain on his perfect family - and yet Francis loves Christian all the same. Boys with sticks for swords and bickering mothers and somehow the world was still right - he loved his brother, loves him now, and will always love him. 

But he thinks he loves Freya too.

And it is not her fault that he is cursed to be the outlier and she blessed with all the world at her fingertips, he included. Nor is it his fault that the second she walked in to his world she was whisked away, untouchable. It is his fault that he was born to break the rules, to visit her anyway. It is his fault that he was born to thieve, stealing glances and brushes of skin and moments in her presence. It is his fault that what gives him strength is also his weakness.

There are no circles around Freya, save for the one on her ring finger.

"Do you love him?" he asks, staring at the sun descending from the sky. She sits next to him, mere inches away from his own still body, soaking in the evening light and his lingering gaze.

She turns to look at him.

Everything is gold.

"My brother. Do you love him, Freya?"

Silence, for a moment. His heart skips a beat. Fidgeting hands find loose strands of straw and he works quietly in the summer heat, braiding their roots together, trying to figure out if love is foolishness or if he is just foolish for thinking his dark heart could love at all.

His words form circles and he waits for them to bind.

REACH OUT YOUR HANDS AND TELL ME JUST WHAT YOU FEEL