09-16-2016, 10:03 PM
I am no stranger to staring at the sky, beseeching forces beyond myself for answers, for guidance, for help navigating the confusing mess this world can be. Whatever part of me was capable of receiving such guidance has been stripped away or smothered into silence, though, and I have given up trying in the months since the world changed so drastically.
Still, I understand the impulse. So when I come across a stranger doing just that, I pause, angling my body (still so oddly empty without my Noctem, and still so deaf and blind without my extra senses) to stand next to her and follow her gaze, staring up at the sky that once might have held answers. To her questions, to mine, it doesn’t much matter right now anyhow.
“Do they answer you?” I don’t mean to ask it, but the words slip out unbidden. I’ve heard whispers of power being returned to some, slow trickles of magic back into the world. Perhaps she is one such soul. But there’s a quiet desperation in the lines of her face, in the tension of her body, that makes me suspect if they ever did, they do no longer.
I search the sky a moment longer, waiting in vain for a nudge, a quiet whisper, a shimmer of knowing or a flash of color rippling like an aurora across the sky. But there is nothing, as there has been nothing since the moment the world remade itself. “It was never the stars for me, not really, but whatever it was is still far too silent.”
Still, I understand the impulse. So when I come across a stranger doing just that, I pause, angling my body (still so oddly empty without my Noctem, and still so deaf and blind without my extra senses) to stand next to her and follow her gaze, staring up at the sky that once might have held answers. To her questions, to mine, it doesn’t much matter right now anyhow.
“Do they answer you?” I don’t mean to ask it, but the words slip out unbidden. I’ve heard whispers of power being returned to some, slow trickles of magic back into the world. Perhaps she is one such soul. But there’s a quiet desperation in the lines of her face, in the tension of her body, that makes me suspect if they ever did, they do no longer.
I search the sky a moment longer, waiting in vain for a nudge, a quiet whisper, a shimmer of knowing or a flash of color rippling like an aurora across the sky. But there is nothing, as there has been nothing since the moment the world remade itself. “It was never the stars for me, not really, but whatever it was is still far too silent.”