She had been terrified of thunderstorms.
(There is a memory here - a memory of a copper child burrowing herself into the side of her silver mother. “Mama,” she had asked, “are the Gods angry with us?” Her mother had laughed at that - whatever the Gods had thought of her, Aletta had never cared. She had courted their anger before, perhaps inspired it. What other explanation was there for the events that came after? ”It is alright, sweeting.” The silver mare had whispered and then remembering speaks low before another rumble of thunder can interrupt them, "There are some things, Lillibird, that can only be learned in the unrest of a storm. Hold fast and it will pass.”)
Lilliana hasn’t been scared of storms for a long time but when the lightning strikes, the copper skin on her quivers in anticipation for the barrel roll of thunder she knows that must come. But it doesn’t come.
It does not come.
There is only the hum - a triumvirate of shadows that sing in the shadows. The chestnut mare watches for a moment, fascinated and captivated by who the others might be for Lilliana only knows one. Her heart only knows the imprint of the one who stands by two of the others and in her heartbreak, it pulsates in sorrow. She could weep at the sight (not sight, for he isn’t really here) but even a figment of his ghost could bring her to her knees.
She takes a step forward but the world cracks. It fragments in pieces and where Kagerus once stood is broken. There are shards of her around, a shell of the painted woman before the whole world goes black. Before there is only nothing. "@[Kagerus]!” she breaks, her voice finally collapsing against the void. In this place - in this abyss - Lilliana does the thing she doesn’t know how to do in the waking world.
Some part of her breaks with Kagerus.
She panics. She can’t breathe. There is a vice around her throat and it grips. It tightens and tightens as Lilliana tries to put herself back together. (How?) It is only the essence of warmth that pulls her back together; a gentle touch of her childhood home, Elena’s laughter, the memory of Jacob’s first wobbly steps, of screaming trees and Neverwhere, of pulling Kagerus from a river, of an armored girl as lost in this world as Lilli was. These things pull her back and her sides heave, gasping for air in a place that doesn’t exist.
The world exists again and Lilliana leans into the form that solidifies beside her. She leans into an embrace as the world turns blue and green, as it regains shape under Kagerus’ masterful brushstrokes. "I’m sorry,” she chokes. She is finally asking questions and they are the wrong ones - in the wrong place. "I won’t.” And for as tentative as Lilliana is with her promises, she is not with this one.
Her heart.
Oh, her heart.
When will she learn? Is there ever tempering Lilliana’s wildstorm heart? It rages and rampants; it burns and blazes.
Are you ready for that?
Her heart thunders. It hammers and she wonders if she is. She could choke herself on the truth of this, of where Kagerus wants to take them. She almost says no. She almost shakes her head until a silver and blue haze touches her shoulder. "He never let me make my own choices,” she murmurs gently. "He was always so adamant on keeping us safe but all I ever wanted was to make my own choice.” Those days are long gone. They are misty memories in her mind and yet as the haze lingers, there is precious little at that moment that Lilliana would give to bring him to life. To let the dreamweaver see and know him.
There is, and only ever will be, one Malachi.
Kagerus has a brother too. One of the humming men.
"One of them was yours, weren’t they?”
For a moment, she says nothing. This is all wrong. She wants to tell Kagerus that this is all wrong.
But as Lilliana has known, for a long time now, there is no going back. There is no undoing the past. There is only ahead and that infinite future that lays waiting.
"Will you stay with me? I don’t know-,” she stops herself with a breaking voice, "I don’t know how to do this, Kagerus.” And into the swirling world of color, where those two souls lay waiting in a future that is coming regardless, she looks to the painted mare.
She is still waiting for the crack of thunder, she realizes but this time there is no terror.
Lilliana takes a deep breath and the world changes, into hazes of pinks and purples. It fades to a place between twilight and dusk and how she knows.. how does she know? She holds her breathe because in the haze, not as phantasmal as the silver-blue ghost had been, but she hears them. Her heart knows them and she cradles it gently in her chest. Lilliana only catches herself by leaning into the former caretaker again because through the fog are the shades of two. Like the North and South of the River she follows, like the eternal pull of the tides (in and out), like a sun and moon, there is a balance playing before her eyes in the form of two foals.
Her eyes are fever-bright as she takes in the retreating forms of the two boys. And as always, in response to so much emotion, Lilliana can only find a single word, "Oh."
this post was brought to you by Guster and half a bottle of pinot. enjoy.
(There is a memory here - a memory of a copper child burrowing herself into the side of her silver mother. “Mama,” she had asked, “are the Gods angry with us?” Her mother had laughed at that - whatever the Gods had thought of her, Aletta had never cared. She had courted their anger before, perhaps inspired it. What other explanation was there for the events that came after? ”It is alright, sweeting.” The silver mare had whispered and then remembering speaks low before another rumble of thunder can interrupt them, "There are some things, Lillibird, that can only be learned in the unrest of a storm. Hold fast and it will pass.”)
Lilliana hasn’t been scared of storms for a long time but when the lightning strikes, the copper skin on her quivers in anticipation for the barrel roll of thunder she knows that must come. But it doesn’t come.
It does not come.
There is only the hum - a triumvirate of shadows that sing in the shadows. The chestnut mare watches for a moment, fascinated and captivated by who the others might be for Lilliana only knows one. Her heart only knows the imprint of the one who stands by two of the others and in her heartbreak, it pulsates in sorrow. She could weep at the sight (not sight, for he isn’t really here) but even a figment of his ghost could bring her to her knees.
She takes a step forward but the world cracks. It fragments in pieces and where Kagerus once stood is broken. There are shards of her around, a shell of the painted woman before the whole world goes black. Before there is only nothing. "@[Kagerus]!” she breaks, her voice finally collapsing against the void. In this place - in this abyss - Lilliana does the thing she doesn’t know how to do in the waking world.
Some part of her breaks with Kagerus.
She panics. She can’t breathe. There is a vice around her throat and it grips. It tightens and tightens as Lilliana tries to put herself back together. (How?) It is only the essence of warmth that pulls her back together; a gentle touch of her childhood home, Elena’s laughter, the memory of Jacob’s first wobbly steps, of screaming trees and Neverwhere, of pulling Kagerus from a river, of an armored girl as lost in this world as Lilli was. These things pull her back and her sides heave, gasping for air in a place that doesn’t exist.
The world exists again and Lilliana leans into the form that solidifies beside her. She leans into an embrace as the world turns blue and green, as it regains shape under Kagerus’ masterful brushstrokes. "I’m sorry,” she chokes. She is finally asking questions and they are the wrong ones - in the wrong place. "I won’t.” And for as tentative as Lilliana is with her promises, she is not with this one.
Her heart.
Oh, her heart.
When will she learn? Is there ever tempering Lilliana’s wildstorm heart? It rages and rampants; it burns and blazes.
Are you ready for that?
Her heart thunders. It hammers and she wonders if she is. She could choke herself on the truth of this, of where Kagerus wants to take them. She almost says no. She almost shakes her head until a silver and blue haze touches her shoulder. "He never let me make my own choices,” she murmurs gently. "He was always so adamant on keeping us safe but all I ever wanted was to make my own choice.” Those days are long gone. They are misty memories in her mind and yet as the haze lingers, there is precious little at that moment that Lilliana would give to bring him to life. To let the dreamweaver see and know him.
There is, and only ever will be, one Malachi.
Kagerus has a brother too. One of the humming men.
"One of them was yours, weren’t they?”
For a moment, she says nothing. This is all wrong. She wants to tell Kagerus that this is all wrong.
But as Lilliana has known, for a long time now, there is no going back. There is no undoing the past. There is only ahead and that infinite future that lays waiting.
"Will you stay with me? I don’t know-,” she stops herself with a breaking voice, "I don’t know how to do this, Kagerus.” And into the swirling world of color, where those two souls lay waiting in a future that is coming regardless, she looks to the painted mare.
She is still waiting for the crack of thunder, she realizes but this time there is no terror.
Lilliana takes a deep breath and the world changes, into hazes of pinks and purples. It fades to a place between twilight and dusk and how she knows.. how does she know? She holds her breathe because in the haze, not as phantasmal as the silver-blue ghost had been, but she hears them. Her heart knows them and she cradles it gently in her chest. Lilliana only catches herself by leaning into the former caretaker again because through the fog are the shades of two. Like the North and South of the River she follows, like the eternal pull of the tides (in and out), like a sun and moon, there is a balance playing before her eyes in the form of two foals.
Her eyes are fever-bright as she takes in the retreating forms of the two boys. And as always, in response to so much emotion, Lilliana can only find a single word, "Oh."
this post was brought to you by Guster and half a bottle of pinot. enjoy.
but it's all in the past, love
it's all gone with the wind