02-22-2018, 07:39 PM
haze like a fever
i fell like a dreamer for sweet tea and lemonade; it clings to my t-shirt it’s loud and it lingers, designed to suffocate. i light up to find what i’ve known all this time, there’s some beauty here yet
Wishbone doesn’t know of the catalyst she is. She knows of her mother and father now (her mother a gentle but passionate woman, her father a kind-hearted leader and endearing parent) and not who they were before her arrival. She doesn’t know of the way Wound would turn her gaze away from the shameful eyes, or how easily Warrick walked without the weight of the crown. Perhaps they will change again — as life often does — but they will remain her parents even still.
Delight flutters in her heart as her father tips his head back to glance at the peak of the volcano. Wishbone doesn’t know of the treachery or promise that the landmark holds (the darkness from the prisoner’s life underground, the ever-strengthening love of her father and his true lover among lava-caves). It is tall and mighty and impossible before her, though one day she might reach the top with sweat on her cheeks and joy in her heart.
He seems to sense her thoughts. A wild laugh pulls itself from Wishbone’s mouth. “That sounds like it would hurt!” Without warning she is boldly jumping from the flat rock, inhaling a quick breath at the sensation of butterflies in her stomach as she falls. For a few seconds she is flying — gliding through the sky on a pair of inky black wings with the clouds rolling under her feet — but then she tumbles onto the ground with a dramatic gasp.
Just as quickly as she had leapt down, she is climbing back onto her feet. Her right shoulder is sore from how she landed (it wasn’t the most graceful leap in the world, after all) but she is too delighted to weave between the strength of her father’s legs to care. She stops from between his forelegs, tipping her chin up so she can look at Warrick. “Didn’t the fairies give you your wings?”
Delight flutters in her heart as her father tips his head back to glance at the peak of the volcano. Wishbone doesn’t know of the treachery or promise that the landmark holds (the darkness from the prisoner’s life underground, the ever-strengthening love of her father and his true lover among lava-caves). It is tall and mighty and impossible before her, though one day she might reach the top with sweat on her cheeks and joy in her heart.
He seems to sense her thoughts. A wild laugh pulls itself from Wishbone’s mouth. “That sounds like it would hurt!” Without warning she is boldly jumping from the flat rock, inhaling a quick breath at the sensation of butterflies in her stomach as she falls. For a few seconds she is flying — gliding through the sky on a pair of inky black wings with the clouds rolling under her feet — but then she tumbles onto the ground with a dramatic gasp.
Just as quickly as she had leapt down, she is climbing back onto her feet. Her right shoulder is sore from how she landed (it wasn’t the most graceful leap in the world, after all) but she is too delighted to weave between the strength of her father’s legs to care. She stops from between his forelegs, tipping her chin up so she can look at Warrick. “Didn’t the fairies give you your wings?”
@[Warrick]