In her closeness (or what she determines as close), Olena can smell the sky on his skin - fresh and unkempt - and she imagines this is what the tops of clouds smell like. The dreamy idea draws her closer to him, slowly, with gentle and unhurried steps on her slender, obsidian legs. There is the scent of smoke and ash, but the young girl equates it to the familiar volcano that looms behind them like a sleeping giant, constantly spewing its breathy plume into Tephra’s bold, blue skies.
It is not often that she is met with an unfamiliar face and though his appears kind (almost distraught?), the hesitation is clear on the sharp angles of her face, those bright eyes clouded by uncertainty. He must be able to sense her anxiousness, for when he turns away to watch the ocean once more, he steps aside as if giving her space. Olena inhales a quick breath, those dark raven wings fluttering gently. If he had asked her why she was here alone (and maybe he will, eventually), she would tell him that she never wants to be alone. That feeling of loneliness wraps around her heart each chance that it gets, suffocating her more than the sickness that wracks her thin body.
Hello, she practices in her mind, hating that her own consciousness sounds feeble and unsure. She swallows hard, lifting her head with slight determination, snorting softly. She’s still not close enough, she decides, and somehow he finds the patience to wait for her until she draws parallel to him a few lengths away.
“Hello,” she finally says. Her blue eyes quickly fall downcast; her voice is breathy and soft, perhaps even barely audible above the roar of the ocean waves before them. She’s tired, she can already feel it, but she refuses to let it keep her from something new like this. Her body aches in protest but she only coughs instead, masking the wet and ailing sound by acting as if she is clearing her throat. “I’ve never seen you before.” She turns away from him, suddenly embarrassed. Of course she’s never seen him, why would she say that? Olena can feel the darkness of her hooves beginning to turn into nothing, threatening to stretch across her whole body until she would be able to pass completely through the volcano behind them.
With a soft snort, she wills the feeling away, her dark hooves becoming solid once again.
“I’m Olena.” She finally turns her eyes to him, meeting those green irises from beneath the thickness of her onyx forelock.
OLENA
& all the stars go dark
i turn the light on in my soul
@[Nashua]