11-13-2019, 12:23 PM
How curious, she marvels, for a star to have fallen all the way from the sky. How had he escaped? Why would he want to leave?
“You’re beautiful.” It’s a whispered sigh, a sound that would be otherwise impossible to hear in the tethers of reality. But not, here. He would hear her voice as though she stood at his shoulder.
Bright and blazing against the pitch of her canvas, he was there, warmer than any of the other stars she had strung that night. A fallen star glowing, and yet, something was off. Her brow furrowed with concern, having difficulty in placing a name to such a strange thing. A blemish - cold, void, hard - that left a vacancy where something important had been.
But the specifics are lost to her, only guessing with the perceptive intuition of a sensitive soul.
She assumes it to be loneliness.
Still beautiful though, she concludes with a sage nod of her head, as if her thoughts were absolute.
When she descends from the top of her ridge, she severs cords and the stars begin a slow descent to the shimmering ground that they share. Perhaps if she brought the stars to him, he wouldn’t feel so alone? And when they dance lazily between the dreamweaver girl and the skyfallen boy, glowing as fireflies would, she presses into the midnight air that separates them.
She can see now, as she settles the span of a step in front of him that he is a sentient wanderer, a trespasser within her dream, a unique melding of equine and canine. And it fascinates her.
“My name is Catcher. Who are you?”
@[Firen]
“You’re beautiful.” It’s a whispered sigh, a sound that would be otherwise impossible to hear in the tethers of reality. But not, here. He would hear her voice as though she stood at his shoulder.
Bright and blazing against the pitch of her canvas, he was there, warmer than any of the other stars she had strung that night. A fallen star glowing, and yet, something was off. Her brow furrowed with concern, having difficulty in placing a name to such a strange thing. A blemish - cold, void, hard - that left a vacancy where something important had been.
But the specifics are lost to her, only guessing with the perceptive intuition of a sensitive soul.
She assumes it to be loneliness.
Still beautiful though, she concludes with a sage nod of her head, as if her thoughts were absolute.
When she descends from the top of her ridge, she severs cords and the stars begin a slow descent to the shimmering ground that they share. Perhaps if she brought the stars to him, he wouldn’t feel so alone? And when they dance lazily between the dreamweaver girl and the skyfallen boy, glowing as fireflies would, she presses into the midnight air that separates them.
She can see now, as she settles the span of a step in front of him that he is a sentient wanderer, a trespasser within her dream, a unique melding of equine and canine. And it fascinates her.
“My name is Catcher. Who are you?”
@[Firen]
