Our life is twofold; Sleep hath its own world, Heartworm/Irisa

[Nyxia]

my friend makes rings, she swirls and sings
she’s a mystic in the sense that she’s still mystified by things

She feels it, like a hook behind her navel, yanking; the muscles of this place are trying to pry her shade from itself. It is violent. And she is scared. “...there’s no desert. Though mom can make you one, if you want...” “No!” She does not mean to yell. Not at Irisa! But she does not want a desert. She does not want to leave, not yet. Not until she has understood it all.

But she is being rejected...

–bright emerald green. Cornflower blues. Lavenders and sunflower yellows. 

–darkness. Heavy, aching darkness; airy, breathless nothing.

(–somewhere, far away or nearby, lungs sting with a pull of breath. A skeleton shifts. A moan issues from cracked and dry lips and then is silenced.)

The lavender girl blinks her golden eyes open. (Her head pounds.) Brilliant big cats pace and watch her, alarmingly intense. She eyes them wearily, now. She does not feel safe. Not completely, not now that the creations here have seen the queerness of her presence. The world bears down on her. The smell of blood imparts itself in her nostrils, intermingling with the sickliness of flowers and perfume – and she realizes, now, that it is coming from the ruin of her face. Drops and trails, passing down like thick tears over her cheekbone and chin. Congealing in her fur. She is not lovely. She is ugly; she is even less made for this place now than the first time she was forced out.

(There is still blood! Maybe, somewhere – far away or nearby – her flesh is still plump and warm. Maybe he had failed like he has only one other time.)
“Not this Meadow, but mine,” she replies softly, pleading. (Understand.) But she does not know how to break this place for Irisa. How to show her home. She does not know how to explain father, or –

(Somewhere far away or nearby, a muscle shifts. Twitches. Screams in agony and is stilled. But it is cool and soft and it smells like moss and windflowers.)

“...I have to go, soon,” she almost mouths it, it is so quiet. She does not know how she knows it. But it is true. She is in transit. She was always in transit. She looks back to Irisa, sullen-eyed and grief-stricken. She cannot leave her… again. She knows this, too. Though she does not know how. That this would be a terrible thing done twice-over.

“Won’t you come?” it comes out like a croak, just as she stifles a sob.
Tears and blood make their careful passage down her cheekbone and chin, hanging there like strange jewels and then drip. (Things like these have never wrought beauty, no matter where they fall together.) “I think I am alone, wherever I am.”

and I pray to blades of grass to find forgiveness in the weeds.

so I'm going with either she never totally died or ~*beqannamagic*~ she's been revived and is coming to (in the forest), so now she's kind of.. ready to leave? like Heartworm, if you like, maybe can feel that she is easier to push out or is getting there. so if you'd like to wake them up or where ever you feel like going now <3