where we break when our hearts are strong enough
Ivy breathes the moonlight in deep, savoring it as she skitters along the edges of the forest.
It is quiet tonight, which is the way she likes it. She feels like in the silence, she can unlock the truth of herself, losing herself to the freedom that can only be found in the milky light of night. During the day, she remains to herself, finding quiet corners of common lands to sleep or daydream or wander—it doesn’t matter so long as she remains alone. But at night—oh, at night—she lets herself come closer to the heart of the land. She likes to fancy that she can hear the echo of footfall and the shadow of those who had been here. She likes to imagine their stories. The they fell in love. The way they laughed. The way they fought.
She likes to imagine it, but only from afar.
Never up close.
Never personal.
It’s why she comes here now, wrapped in silver, her indigo nose twitching as she drinks in the scents of those who have long since left. Her youthful eyes are wide and bright beneath the wild tangles of her forelock, and she stands still beneath the boughs of the trees to drink in the forest. For a moment, she considers racing through the trees and the branches, the feel of the scratching her sides and the wind weaving through her mane, but she remains still—for now. Her heart pounds in her chest, reminding her of all of the life that lived here before, and she cannot deny the way she thirsts for adventure.
She hungers for the excitement and the joy and the knife’s edge of life as much as she fears it.
She reaches for the flame and withdraws at the last second, content to live in the shadows.
Maybe someday she will fling herself into the wild blue, but for now, she watches from afar.
we can bow 'cause our music's warmer than blood