01-27-2018, 05:51 PM
Where Garbage wanders in darkness; Saedís wears her innocence like protection from all things somber and complicated. She cannot remember when or why she left the Oceanside. Surely, dreamer, you had reason for staying alone? Was it because of him, or something else that you made no effort to save yourself, but fall into a slumber in which you were not quite dead or alive? But she did not know, and that was no lie.
She longs to delve the secrets from his eyes, to pry open that labyrinthine mind of his and get lost down the dwindling paths of memories best left forgotten. She wonders if what she would find should she reach the end of that maze would rattle her.
She had been so certain that laying her past in a forgotten grave was the only way to escape the cemetery. And it had been working, so far. Beqanna had promised her new riches, and day after day she grew sun-strong and star-bright, and the earth was alive again for her – oh! She had forgotten the smell of morning dew and the relief of an afternoon breeze; even the warmth of a companion next to her, speaking of trivialities, and passing the day. These were things that she had wanted back so desperately and so they had seemed to surface accordingly, at the expense of suppressing what she used to know.
Some things she would never forget, and one of these was the ocean. Its wraith danced when the wind blew, and she knew it lay just beyond reach; she would find it, when the wings of her confidence had regrown. All the other things had become ethereal and dreamlike, things she only saw when she called them forward at her will.
”I miss it” she confesses to him; and her eyes glimmer bright-hot with a sudden longing ”The ocean, I mean.”
She wonders if he has known it like she has, but suspects his memories of the ocean are of a far less affectionate nature.
”It’s the only thing that I know was real.”
Just like this moment, he, is real, she thinks as he offers to take her to his favorite place in the meadow, and the promise sends a shiver down her spine.
”Please do” she breathes, and there is longing in the silk-spun softness of her voice. She takes a step closer, gently pressing her pale-white mouth to the tar-black of his shoulder, motioning him to lead the way.
There is something to be said for decisions.