11-26-2018, 03:11 PM
BUT HOW COULD YOU KNOW THE SWEETEST SUFFERING
OF MOVING ON
OF MOVING ON
She regrets her confession, but Tiphon embraces it.
The words play like strings of a harp in his mind, echoing across the walls endlessly, beautifully. Although the notes of solemnity weigh them down, there is still an elegance in the way she admits that perhaps she doesn’t want an escape. At least, he thinks, she didn’t outright say that she wanted to die.
Maybe, just maybe, that’s what happened to him. Death may have choked him of air and dragged him into the black void where he rested amid nothingness. It was torture. It was lonely.
When Tiphon regards her, it’s still with a look of hope. She is letting slip her grip on this life, but he is here to hold her hand even if for just a moment. Even as she confirms that he is right, that it could simply be ignorance, he cannot help but wonder if she is genuine. Deep in his bones, he assumes not. He considers that she is rescuing him from the inner workings of a darker place, but he plays along with a smile and nod. ”Yes, the river,” he takes a place at her side and takes notice of how easily she navigates even as nightfall looms ever nearer. An occasional glance finds her, softly illuminated by his own aura, and he takes note of every line and every curve of her face. The way her eyes map out the world and lead them to a place they’ve seen multiple times before.
In the darkness, when she is distracted, Tiphon frowns.
His own gaze roams to the grotesque trees and their bare branches then to the withered ground where so many have walked. Periodically, his body or wing brushes against her, but it’s enough reassurance that she is there and guiding his foolish self into a world he doesn’t remember. ”Eilidh,” he again looks at her when he utters her name into the silence. There aren’t even crickets chirping or owls hooting in preparation for a long night. Everything is quiet except for the muffled thuds of their footsteps. ”It’s a beautiful name,” he admits coolly with a crooked grin. ”I’m Tiphon.” It’s still so new, such a fresh thing, to hear his name spoken from his own tongue.
Even just the sound of his voice is alien.
”Why?” He suddenly asks, unable to further contain the curiosity that is swimming to his surface. ”Why do you want to stay?” In reality, she doesn’t have to tell him. It isn’t his business, but he tries to make it be. She, by coming to him in the chaos and offering a soft hand, has become his interest, his own cast line of hope. Without her knowing, he clutches her name tightly to his heart and memory, never wanting to let go.
The words play like strings of a harp in his mind, echoing across the walls endlessly, beautifully. Although the notes of solemnity weigh them down, there is still an elegance in the way she admits that perhaps she doesn’t want an escape. At least, he thinks, she didn’t outright say that she wanted to die.
Maybe, just maybe, that’s what happened to him. Death may have choked him of air and dragged him into the black void where he rested amid nothingness. It was torture. It was lonely.
When Tiphon regards her, it’s still with a look of hope. She is letting slip her grip on this life, but he is here to hold her hand even if for just a moment. Even as she confirms that he is right, that it could simply be ignorance, he cannot help but wonder if she is genuine. Deep in his bones, he assumes not. He considers that she is rescuing him from the inner workings of a darker place, but he plays along with a smile and nod. ”Yes, the river,” he takes a place at her side and takes notice of how easily she navigates even as nightfall looms ever nearer. An occasional glance finds her, softly illuminated by his own aura, and he takes note of every line and every curve of her face. The way her eyes map out the world and lead them to a place they’ve seen multiple times before.
In the darkness, when she is distracted, Tiphon frowns.
His own gaze roams to the grotesque trees and their bare branches then to the withered ground where so many have walked. Periodically, his body or wing brushes against her, but it’s enough reassurance that she is there and guiding his foolish self into a world he doesn’t remember. ”Eilidh,” he again looks at her when he utters her name into the silence. There aren’t even crickets chirping or owls hooting in preparation for a long night. Everything is quiet except for the muffled thuds of their footsteps. ”It’s a beautiful name,” he admits coolly with a crooked grin. ”I’m Tiphon.” It’s still so new, such a fresh thing, to hear his name spoken from his own tongue.
Even just the sound of his voice is alien.
”Why?” He suddenly asks, unable to further contain the curiosity that is swimming to his surface. ”Why do you want to stay?” In reality, she doesn’t have to tell him. It isn’t his business, but he tries to make it be. She, by coming to him in the chaos and offering a soft hand, has become his interest, his own cast line of hope. Without her knowing, he clutches her name tightly to his heart and memory, never wanting to let go.
TIPHON
STARLACE AND INFECTION
@[Eilidh]