[PK] Those Demons I Can Not Face (TW Suicide)

[Lirinya 2649]

⋅ ───⊱༺☨༻⊰─── ⋅

⋅ ───⊱༺☨༻⊰─── ⋅

 

“I can not bear it.”

“Not again.”

“Do not leave me, aedymamej.”

“Come home, Anatoliy.”

“Please do ne leave me.”

“Why are you always injured?”

 

Unravelled was the world of Poppiya. For countless years her expectations had dwindled. Once, she had dreamt of a simple adult life. Her plans to be wed to some lordling who would leave her be, allowed her to do as she pleased never came to be. Her plans to live in pious faith and modest comfort never truly came to pass.

 

The spiral began with the passing of her parents, then to her courted partner and now to her aunt. Her beloved aunt. A woman who raised her, cared for her, and taught her the world.

Her husband too, had oft been found injured in various clinics suffering with various injuries.

 

But loss was not the only thing that derailed the womans life. She had suffered mentally after the birth of her first few children. Never truly recovering from the mental strain that came from childbirth, she sought to flee her life- to start afresh. She truly believed that her husband and her babies would flourish without her. 

 

Those years were both the best and the worst. She thrived during the warm fighting for her new nation and way of life. A houseboat on the canals of Balian, a career as head of courts and as a tailor. Life was grand, but it was empty. 

 

And then, he found her. While alchemy had changed some of her appearance, it was not enough to fool her husband. He had met with her- and all clicked into place. 

 

But there were demons she had created. Demons that she vowed to keep secret. 

 

Returning home was as she expected. Seeing her children, walking and talking made her happy. It filled that void she had created.

 

But in its place, it brought shadows.

 

Her husband was loving, her children sought their mother at every chance.

But that secret could not be kept forever.

 

In her guilt, those demons reared their head- and so her husband knew of it all.

But he forgave her. Why did he forgive her?

 

“He should be angry.”

“I am disgusting.”

“I am not worth the love he gives.”

 

The first cut came one eve when Verskaya was silent. Her children had taken off with their nannies, her husband was elsewhere. A slice across flesh drew crimson, and she sobbed in pain. But with that pain came a sense of punishment. Atonement. 

Several more were drawn before she fled to the washroom, just in time before her husband returned home.

Each argument, each guilty thought added a new mark across her forearm. Long sleeves on her dresses hid the markings from view, and subtle dismissals to her husband kept her secret at bay for a time.

 

But then she showed him. An argument heated to boiling point. Screams and wails of anguish and sorrow turned to admissions, and Poppy displayed her hurt to her husband. He begged her to stop, to seek help and guidance.

 

“I am ne worth it, Anatoliy.”

“I do ne deserve you.”

“I shouldn’t even be here.”

“Leave me, and be with her.”

 

But it continued on. Anatoliy’s pleas fell on deaf ears. Each time he did not come home from his work- she found the blade.

Each time she watched her children flourish, that pang of guilt goaded her on.

Every argument, every moment alone. 

Everything.

 

The means of atonement grew. One a day- two a day. Until she came to a peak.

 

She fought to have her husband cured of an ailment. He had been well again, and then back in the clinic. A string of nights of him not returning home- Poppy’s mind raced. 

 

And then her aunt died.

 

Her lifeline to normality. Gone- just like that. She had witnessed it- she had shown her aunt a letter from her brother, and her aunt's heart gave out.

Unable to help, unable to save her- Poppy returned home to Balian.

 

The nights were hollow. She could not cry, could not sleep, could not leave her bed. Her children occupied themselves with their adventures, and her husband fought his war. Poppy remained in bed.

Until she didn’t.

 

After spending those nights alone, she eventually drew herself to her dressing room. She withdrew her papers- a will and letters written long ago. Poppy made sure to leave them on the bed. Her husband would find them there, at least. 

 

And then, she gathered a blade from the dresses, and sat herself down. 

Finally tears came. Haunted nights of dread and guilt, sadness and loneliness all finally gathered. Her faith abandoned long ago, there was no supernatural to offer her comfort. 

 

She drew the blade vertical. Along one arm, and then the other. 

 

Tears cascaded down her cheeks as the blade fell to the floor with a clang. Her head slumped against the dressing table, and her world began to fall to darkness.

 

“Love them, Anatoliy.”

“I am sorry.”

“You deserve better.”

“I love you.”

 

⋅ ───⊱༺☨༻⊰─── ⋅

 

Poppiya Sosina Godunov nee Amador.

134 SA - 172 SA

 

https://poppiya.carrd.co/

Spoiler

Finally a PK. I've had Poppy since she was 5- she's pretty close to 40 now. It's been an adventure, and I'm thankful to the Amadors for giving me the chance to play her.

She's had a wild ride, so thank you to the friends we've made long the way. Cae, HF, Cheese, Critter, Alex, Tee, Gus. Y'all have been amazing and I've had a lot of fun.

 

But it is her time, I do think.

 

[Cheese 2307]

From the seven skies, Liridona welcomed her departed niece- no, her daughter into her arms. “I am sad to see you’ve joined me so soon, my dear,” The woman cooed, “But welcome home, my sweet Poppy. I love you.”

[_RoyalCrafter_ 3242]

The Duke of Whitewood, could not process his emotions as he prepared to face the undead that plagued him. Another death in the family, so soon after the death of his beloved cousin Liridona. As the pages fussed over his armour, he sat sullen, signing the lorraine. "I will make time to mourn for you, the both of you should I make it through these trials. I am sorry I could not do more" He thought to himself.

[critter 2469]

Henrik Amador stares at a crumpled pile of letters, unsent and unfinished.

 

Sestra,

 

I implore you to...

-

Poppy,

 

Come home. ...

-

Pops, 

Your room is ready at Mondstadt. Bring your ...

 

He has cried, of course, for her before. He has mourned her, and worried for her, and ranted and raved over her. He has written a million letters - begging, demanding, pleading, plying - for her to come North, come home, come be safe with him as they had when they were young and had nothing but each other. Ride alongside him, as they had in the war. Drink with him. He had been on the cusp of figuring out just how to say it - if he had just had another day, another piece of parchment, another ...

 

The chill in his heart is heavy, and he knows that this time, he will not get another chance.

[Caedis 425]

Anatoliy returned home a few days later.

 

He stepped through the threshold into their warm Balian home, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he finally allowed his armour to clang to the floor. He was tired. It would be odd if he wasn't.

His war in the North, leading the united southern forces in tandem with their Norlandic allies- The pressure of having close friends fall victim to the same curse that tore his memories and left his body in agony- The offer of his Paladin friend, the being who had first taught him to wield a blade, to join their holy crusade.. And of course, the literal Aengul he had just spoken to.

He was exhausted.

 

"Ea'm home mea love!" His voice, strained yet filled with the warmth and affection few knew he possesed, echoed around the house.

 

It was met with silence.

 

Anatoliy kicked his shoes off, and placed his sword on a nearby rack. He headed upstairs, a light frown on his features though paired beautifully with a complete lack of annoyance.

"Poppiya?" His feet thudded through the halls, old wood creaking beneath him, until he found their bedroom.

 

He gently opened the door.

[najtik 38]

Alone at home, Karl's world shattered with the news of Poppy's death. Memories flooded the once-familiar space, suffocating him with grief. Sinking into a chair, he grappled with the emptiness, tears silently tracing his cheeks as he mourned his beloved sister's irreplaceable presence.

[Ewdrawings 455]

Yera frowned faintly. A small pang of... Regret. That she hadn't bothered to get to know the woman. Ilya's love life was something she tried to avoid keeping up to date with, but still the regret remained. 

[Karina 412]

When Sermi got the news, she couldn't help but light up with a wide grin. Reading that the horrible specter whom had haunted Lord Godunov for years had finally passed? It was freeing. He had a chance to live, now. To unbind himself from the chains she had put on him. Oh, and she knew so many of those damning secrets. 

To be unfaithful, to him, of all people. She could not understand it. Anatoliy was a brother, while not in blood; in spirit. She had been adopted into his Aunts family of found-family. Been at his side through thick and thin, as he did for her. Finally, the wounds could heal, finally - there was a bit of peace threatening to linger on the horizon. 

If only it had been sooner, the Devil thought to herself. The tip of her finger was wettened, briefly, as she clicked her tongue. A piece of parchment set aside to begin a new letter. 'Ilya', it started. 'My dearest condolences,'. She continued. Finally - punctuating it with. 'I heard your ***** wife is dead.'

If Poppiya had a million haters, Sermi was one of them. If she had ten thousand, she was still one of them. If she had only one hater? It would have been Sermi. If the world is with Poppiya, she would have been against the world. How thankful it had never quite risen to that level, she thought.

[MissToni 3487]

Kareena would hear of the news and frowned greatly. Another person dead in the kingdom she was a ward under. And demon attack earlier too. A long sigh escaped her as she glanced at the project she was working on. 

 

"I had hoped you would get to see the finished work, but seems it wouldn't be so. Rest well, Lady Poppiya"

[Apotolofo 1414]

Aveline Kazimira stared listlessly at the wall, upon hearing the news. . . She did not know how to feel. 

 

A pang of guilt, firstly. Then regret- and loss of what could have become a friendship, had they the time. . . 

 

But then again- perhaps she was too idealistic. 

[AuJy 103]

Godwin is perturbed. Poppiya was kind... very kind. Every time he had spoken to her, which amounted to thrice, he left feeling better about himself. Even when questioned about her circumstances, she approach such issues with aplomb. She was one of the few people in the world that was more than willing to give him a chance when he was young and foolhardy.

 

He only wishes that she had done the same for herself.

[ProcaPro 70]

Naya Barakat Al-Jabir retrieves the news with a somberness.

She hadn't really liked Poppiya. She was not family, she was not truly a friend, she had disappeared for years, abandoning people Naya herself cared about with seemingly, little care herself.

But still, Naya had seen Anatoliy search for her. She had helped in the effort, she had seen him tear himself up over Poppiya's disappearance, assured himself she was alive despite Naya trying to get him to move on. So, she sits, and she writes. Condolences were to be made, even if she hadn't cared much for the woman. For Ilya, at least, she could be kind to her memory.

 

Aleksey Godunov was nearly 6 when he had fully met Poppiya, his own mother. Now, at the mere age of 10, she was gone again. For a short time did the boy know her beyond statuettes, letters and paintings. He vaguely remembers, once, being told he could meet her through a painting, that he could pick anywhere to hang it just a few Siant's days before he finally met her. 

And now she was gone again, and this time she wasn't just "far away", under disguise unbeknownst to her own son and trying to live a new life. Something Aleksey still doesn't understand. No, she was gone, and though Aleksey had adjusted quickly to her coming home, he wasn't sure how he'd adjust to her leaving it.

[KillerMaid 67]

Ar-Malna had adored Poppiya's dresses. As soon as she had first come to Balian she stared into the window of the shop, eyes sparkling at the beautiful dresses. She never bought one, too nervous to do so. When she had disappeared Malna almost cried seeing the shop close down, but also because she knew Anatoliy, knew his pain. When she came back she was overjoyed..... but she never saw her dresses, jewelry, and all of the beautiful things she saw from Poppiya she didn't see again. She didn't know how to feel. All she did know was that Anatoliy would need help.

 

Artem Godunov sat in his room, not understanding where his mamej had gone. Perhaps he did not want to. At 8 there are some things you don't understand, death being one. He simply thought Mamej was off picking flowers, she's coming back. But she didn't. So Artem sat by the door of their house in Balian, a small bottle of tea in hand that he bought as his first gift... "Mamej, Ea got vy some tea.. Ea hope it helps."

[PuddinHolidays 25]

Camellia Godunov trailed through the house after learning the news. Each step had her feet dragging across the floor, weighted with frustration and sorrow. At 10, she had composed herself well, perhaps a trait she'd adopted from her mother. As she hit the staircase of the house, she stood there idly for a moment, fists clenched, jaw tightened, as she truly did try to hold herself together. Each glimmering hope that her mother would return was dissipated with each step she climbed. 

 

Once she reached her room, her hand twitched as her body stood still, fearing that if she opened that door, her mother would really be gone. Oh, but she was gone. Camellia knew that all too well; she did, so why did she hesitate? At such a young age, she was burdened with the duty to pick her entire family back onto their feet. She did not believe her father, Anatoliy, could do such a thing. He was gone far too often; she had only known him for his harsh characteristics. Without a moment longer, she turned that door knob, and a fit of anger stormed over the young girl's mind. One that would compete with her fathers. Her rage has turned biblical, incoherent. Tell me where to put the anger. She thought to herself. How do I get closure for something that just suddenly stops? Camellia opened the door slowly, and she took a step inside.