08-22-2021, 04:51 PM
she looks like sleep to the freezing
She is not impervious to pain, no.
It is simply that the ice dampens her perception of it. The cold numbs her to it. Beneath the ice, she bleeds glacial blue. The skin (and there is skin, even if it is not skin like his skin) is chapped and cracked and damaged and it cries out for relief that it will never know again.
It is not that she leans into the pain like he leans into the pain, no.
It is simply that she does not feel it the same way he feels it anymore. It is simply that pain is all in the perception and the ice is all she has known for a long time now. Even from the earliest days of her youth, she has ached for the ice.
It’s true that the journey itself had been long and she could have stopped to find company many times along the way, but she knows that this mortal journey is nothing at all compared to the infinite possibilities available to the likes of him.
She feels no impulse to argue, though, and does not open her mouth to insist that there had been nothing at all to the journey she’d made from the Isle. There is nothing to the traveling when the joints perpetually ache with cold, she wants to tell him but doesn’t. Pain is all in the perception.
The in-between, he says and she goes on studying him a beat longer. She looks away when he mentions the cold and then, finally, relaxes into her own wry grin when he compares it to the winter in her blood. She turns her attention then to the snow gathering at their feet and tilts her head.
“The cold is relative, isn’t it?” she asks coolly, “just because it would not have been cold for me does not mean it was any less cold for you.”
She is quiet for the space of a breath then.
“Were you alone there?”
It is simply that the ice dampens her perception of it. The cold numbs her to it. Beneath the ice, she bleeds glacial blue. The skin (and there is skin, even if it is not skin like his skin) is chapped and cracked and damaged and it cries out for relief that it will never know again.
It is not that she leans into the pain like he leans into the pain, no.
It is simply that she does not feel it the same way he feels it anymore. It is simply that pain is all in the perception and the ice is all she has known for a long time now. Even from the earliest days of her youth, she has ached for the ice.
It’s true that the journey itself had been long and she could have stopped to find company many times along the way, but she knows that this mortal journey is nothing at all compared to the infinite possibilities available to the likes of him.
She feels no impulse to argue, though, and does not open her mouth to insist that there had been nothing at all to the journey she’d made from the Isle. There is nothing to the traveling when the joints perpetually ache with cold, she wants to tell him but doesn’t. Pain is all in the perception.
The in-between, he says and she goes on studying him a beat longer. She looks away when he mentions the cold and then, finally, relaxes into her own wry grin when he compares it to the winter in her blood. She turns her attention then to the snow gathering at their feet and tilts her head.
“The cold is relative, isn’t it?” she asks coolly, “just because it would not have been cold for me does not mean it was any less cold for you.”
She is quiet for the space of a breath then.
“Were you alone there?”
camellia
@firion