Nine of Swords; depression, anxiety, fear, inner turmoil
A figure kneels on the ground, caught up in their own clothing and wrapped by layers of overlapping, dark, and unrelenting armor. It might appear to serve as protection but it merely restricts them. Patterns are embroidered into the textile, but they are faded. There is an empty space where a head should be; they are in a sense of stupor where all thoughts result into nothing. Nine spikes emerge from the metal that envelops their mind, a sign of spreading and growing worry. Two sculptured hands press against the space where their face should be, a sign of a failed attempt at comforting oneself. They grip a double edged sword for support. There is no hilt, nothing to hold onto, but they do not let go. Both a symbol of grasping at past hurt and an attempt to rise up again.
Help is difficult to ask for, blood flows from their palms, but it is necessary. It is the only sign of color in the design; it suggests that not all is bleak for the future. One hand presses against the ground. They can rise again.
I love how tumblr is reverse chronological order so when your mutual starts having a blorbo breakdown overnight you get to start with the insane conclusion and work your way back to where they first went off the rails.
![[ID: Her finger dug in my underjaw / was the first time I’d been touched / in months. You can’t know / how many minutes I spent on this. For you. / What’s a dollar when I’m telling you / I trembled like a bathing animal.]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/496f5fd3596e207c0587c3885e81c883/d3b36b61a8052589-a7/s500x750/3c1b18485d255f06b3fc3d5902216f6d8053389c.jpg)
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