02-08-2021, 02:48 AM
You think I'll be the Dark Sky so you can be the Star?
I'll Swallow you Whole.
I'll Swallow you Whole.
She is surprised at the relief she feels when he resurfaces, mostly because she is always surprised to feel anything at all. But it floods through her in a way that almost weakens her knees, and she expels an uneasy breath from her white lips. She steps towards the edge of the water to meet him, not surprised that he returns starless and disappointed. The stars feel just as far away as they always have, and she has resigned herself to the idea that soon she will be nothing.
All she can hope for is to make it long enough to birth their child, but of course, she has never voiced her fear of what that might do to her to Tiercel. Her glow has faded to nearly nothing, and she is not sure what it will mean once it is fully extinguished. There is a chance that it simply means the star inside of her has died—that she will become mortal as the grass that has wilted away without sunlight. There is the chance too that when the star dies, she would die with it.
There had been a time when she had thought she would rather die than to never be a star again; that if given the choice she would choose death every time.
But that had been before Tiercel, before their child. She had two things now that made this life worth living, and she wonders at the irony that it is being slowly stripped from her before she had the chance to truly let it be hers. Perhaps it was her divine punishment for wanting to go back to something that was no longer hers.
He stands alongside her, and she notices the way that he refuses to meet her eyes (her own eye contact many had found disconcerting at first, having not realized that staring made them uncomfortable). With a slight duck of her head, she bumps her nose lightly to his, her dark purple eyes strangely soft when she says to him, “I know you don’t want to stop, but a break might not be a bad idea. The stars, wherever they are, will still be there after the baby is born.” She doesn’t want to tell him that she is afraid; fear was not something she was at all accustomed to, and it was perhaps the strangest of emotions to her.
She is afraid, though, of how weak the lack of starlight has made her. She is afraid of not living long enough to be a mother to their child, she is afraid of leaving Tiercel alone in this endless dark.
The fear lives beneath her fatigue though, a nagging prick in the back of her mind, but constantly drowned by other things that are more pressing.
“I think rest and food sound like a splendid idea,” she says with another lingering touch to his cheek, before she begins to move off into the dark, back in the direction that their cave sits.
All she can hope for is to make it long enough to birth their child, but of course, she has never voiced her fear of what that might do to her to Tiercel. Her glow has faded to nearly nothing, and she is not sure what it will mean once it is fully extinguished. There is a chance that it simply means the star inside of her has died—that she will become mortal as the grass that has wilted away without sunlight. There is the chance too that when the star dies, she would die with it.
There had been a time when she had thought she would rather die than to never be a star again; that if given the choice she would choose death every time.
But that had been before Tiercel, before their child. She had two things now that made this life worth living, and she wonders at the irony that it is being slowly stripped from her before she had the chance to truly let it be hers. Perhaps it was her divine punishment for wanting to go back to something that was no longer hers.
He stands alongside her, and she notices the way that he refuses to meet her eyes (her own eye contact many had found disconcerting at first, having not realized that staring made them uncomfortable). With a slight duck of her head, she bumps her nose lightly to his, her dark purple eyes strangely soft when she says to him, “I know you don’t want to stop, but a break might not be a bad idea. The stars, wherever they are, will still be there after the baby is born.” She doesn’t want to tell him that she is afraid; fear was not something she was at all accustomed to, and it was perhaps the strangest of emotions to her.
She is afraid, though, of how weak the lack of starlight has made her. She is afraid of not living long enough to be a mother to their child, she is afraid of leaving Tiercel alone in this endless dark.
The fear lives beneath her fatigue though, a nagging prick in the back of her mind, but constantly drowned by other things that are more pressing.
“I think rest and food sound like a splendid idea,” she says with another lingering touch to his cheek, before she begins to move off into the dark, back in the direction that their cave sits.
Islas
@[Tiercel]