07-07-2023, 11:00 PM
it's a mystery to me
we have a greed with which we have agreed. you think you have to want more than you need; until you have it all you won't be free. and when you think more than you want, your thoughts begin to bleed.
Wishbone has found peace in the river, specifically the place where it becomes one with the ocean. It is a spot of Beqanna that reminds her of Tephra, now buried under the ocean, because the forest meets the coastline without shame. Her childhood home had been that way — the humid foliage of the jungle had kissed the charcoal beaches, and she could always hear the hum of the waves when she was among the undergrowth. The river is different because it slowly winds its way into the sea. One moment she is walking to the tune of the river’s song, and suddenly she is around a bend, and the wide expanse of the ocean greets her.
It is one of her favorite paths to take, to watch the ocean open up before her, unfurling like a rose.
It is especially beautiful on this night, and Wishbone watches from inside the treeline as the full moon glistens off the soft waves. Further out, beyond her swimming capabilities, the moon is a perfect reflection on the ocean’s face. Her amber eyes trace the edges of the moon’s reflection over and over, her mind playing a distant memory of Sickle and Malik (of her failure — because she cannot shake her regrets and shame these days).
The sound of water moving against its will draws her attention away. She is thankful for the distraction. Yet her eyes catch on the shape and color of a body she hasn’t seen in many years. Wishbone feels her breath flee from her chest, but she is able to recover before anything more than a sigh leaves her lips. She’s seen his face since her death — since he murdered her — but it had been during the eclipse when monsters could pick apart your brain and form into something false. His form had been a shadow, a monster, a hoax.
Wishbone knows without touching him that this Ivar is very, very real. And she finds that she is not quite as angry as she had been toward the monster. In fact, she finds herself watching him with a cool, if not amused, expression. She wonders if much has changed with him, but she guesses not by the way he ignores his surroundings as if assuming someone would become enthralled by him and simply have to approach him.
She looks very different from the last time they met, but two things have yet to change — her honey-and-whisky voice and her bright, amber eyes. Wishbone steps from the shadows quietly, just behind his shoulder, and says rather simply, “I’m always surprised what creatures the full moon drags out of hiding.”
It is one of her favorite paths to take, to watch the ocean open up before her, unfurling like a rose.
It is especially beautiful on this night, and Wishbone watches from inside the treeline as the full moon glistens off the soft waves. Further out, beyond her swimming capabilities, the moon is a perfect reflection on the ocean’s face. Her amber eyes trace the edges of the moon’s reflection over and over, her mind playing a distant memory of Sickle and Malik (of her failure — because she cannot shake her regrets and shame these days).
The sound of water moving against its will draws her attention away. She is thankful for the distraction. Yet her eyes catch on the shape and color of a body she hasn’t seen in many years. Wishbone feels her breath flee from her chest, but she is able to recover before anything more than a sigh leaves her lips. She’s seen his face since her death — since he murdered her — but it had been during the eclipse when monsters could pick apart your brain and form into something false. His form had been a shadow, a monster, a hoax.
Wishbone knows without touching him that this Ivar is very, very real. And she finds that she is not quite as angry as she had been toward the monster. In fact, she finds herself watching him with a cool, if not amused, expression. She wonders if much has changed with him, but she guesses not by the way he ignores his surroundings as if assuming someone would become enthralled by him and simply have to approach him.
She looks very different from the last time they met, but two things have yet to change — her honey-and-whisky voice and her bright, amber eyes. Wishbone steps from the shadows quietly, just behind his shoulder, and says rather simply, “I’m always surprised what creatures the full moon drags out of hiding.”
@Ivar
I couldn't help myself