11-26-2018, 03:40 PM
BUT HOW COULD YOU KNOW THE SWEETEST SUFFERING
OF MOVING ON
OF MOVING ON
He sees the light peeking through, tracing a line down her body. Starlight, he tells himself before peering up at the sky and noting how slowly the sun is beginning to set. The sky is smeared with red, orange, and yellow. There, over in the distance, he can see a hint of lavender kissing a cloud as the horizon beckons the sun ever nearer. It holds his attention briefly because he is looking at the girl again, deciding whether he wants to smile or frown. ”You’re like a star wanting to burst free,” his voice is gentle in the silence around them, as though he holds secrets that no one can ever know. His molten eyes are bright, almost as stark as the light she emanates. ”Quite a sight,” he adds, deciding to smile and take a more uplifting route.
She is a beautiful star, he thought, or she is broken.
With so much heartbreak and destruction surrounding them, Tiphon attempts to take hold of anything and everything optimistic. It does nothing to shroud himself in a similar darkness that Beqanna now faces. He wants to help heal, not destroy. Little by little, he brings light to strangers’ eyes. It’s the least he can try doing in such turmoil.
”Yes,” his confirmation is almost painful to say, like it’s himself hurting with Beqanna – like this plague is eating away at him instead of the trees and soil and grass. The forest is naked, barren. The pines and leaves have all fallen unnaturally, and the bark peels uncomfortably. Gnarled branches reach for them like dead fingers. He offers a sideways glance, but nothing has changed. ”You have to be careful,” little does he know how prominent the contagion is and how he is carrying it in his own body. He advises others to flee, to stay safe, when he himself faces the danger. In front of her, with the infection only just beginning within him, he is simply fatigued. The blood wants to dribble from his nose, but not yet. It will in due time.
Everything will fall apart in due time.
Swallowing, he leaks his own magic through him so that the exhaustion can wash away and abandon his muscles. He is fighting the sickness he doesn’t realize he has.
And he nods empathetically, a lopsided grin lifting a corner of his mouth. ”I have as well,” absent, that is, and like her, he was tossed into the madness. ”I’ve only just arrived, I feel. I’ve heard plague, but I know little more. The absolute cure is out of our hands.” He is limited in what he can do, but he doesn’t yet offer himself to her. She still looks so healthy, untouched by the epidemic. ”I’m Tiphon, and what is your name, starchild?” He more broadly smiles now, picturing her as a beautiful star. How blessed is he to be with her, in this moment, even as the world around them dies.
She is a beautiful star, he thought, or she is broken.
With so much heartbreak and destruction surrounding them, Tiphon attempts to take hold of anything and everything optimistic. It does nothing to shroud himself in a similar darkness that Beqanna now faces. He wants to help heal, not destroy. Little by little, he brings light to strangers’ eyes. It’s the least he can try doing in such turmoil.
”Yes,” his confirmation is almost painful to say, like it’s himself hurting with Beqanna – like this plague is eating away at him instead of the trees and soil and grass. The forest is naked, barren. The pines and leaves have all fallen unnaturally, and the bark peels uncomfortably. Gnarled branches reach for them like dead fingers. He offers a sideways glance, but nothing has changed. ”You have to be careful,” little does he know how prominent the contagion is and how he is carrying it in his own body. He advises others to flee, to stay safe, when he himself faces the danger. In front of her, with the infection only just beginning within him, he is simply fatigued. The blood wants to dribble from his nose, but not yet. It will in due time.
Everything will fall apart in due time.
Swallowing, he leaks his own magic through him so that the exhaustion can wash away and abandon his muscles. He is fighting the sickness he doesn’t realize he has.
And he nods empathetically, a lopsided grin lifting a corner of his mouth. ”I have as well,” absent, that is, and like her, he was tossed into the madness. ”I’ve only just arrived, I feel. I’ve heard plague, but I know little more. The absolute cure is out of our hands.” He is limited in what he can do, but he doesn’t yet offer himself to her. She still looks so healthy, untouched by the epidemic. ”I’m Tiphon, and what is your name, starchild?” He more broadly smiles now, picturing her as a beautiful star. How blessed is he to be with her, in this moment, even as the world around them dies.
TIPHON
STARLACE AND INFECTION
@[Joscelin]