— and how long must I stay, will I lay by your side
just to say that I'm yours and you'll never be mine —
just to say that I'm yours and you'll never be mine —
His answer is not what she had hoped, but something in his own uncertainty was reassuring. The idea that no one seemed to know what was happening was almost unifying, in its own way. They were all at a loss, but they were at least confused together. There is still a part of her that thinks someone out there knows exactly what is happening, but perhaps they like the world being plunged into darkness. It keeps the unease fresh in her chest, that constant worry that the dark was being used to subdue them, somehow.
But he speaks of the Alliance, and she gives a curious tilt of her glass head. “The Alliance?” She has heard the word, just in passing, but did not entirely know what it was. Hourglass did not live in any particular land, and had never made an attempt to settle into one, either. The Alliance had piqued her interest, but being made of glass she had forced herself to push it from her mind. Perhaps in a different life she could have been a fighter. In this one, though, she has resigned herself to the fact that she is too fragile for such things. “Did you fight in it?” she asks him with the faintest hint of admiration, her glass-heart quickening just a little at the thought.
She laughs good-naturedly at his teasing remark about mainlanders and war, and her glossy, copper shoulder rolls in a way reminiscent of a shrug. “I don’t live in any of the lands, but they do seem to have a fondness for fighting.” Catching onto the way he had referred to them, she comments curiously, “You must live on one of the islands, then?”
But he speaks of the Alliance, and she gives a curious tilt of her glass head. “The Alliance?” She has heard the word, just in passing, but did not entirely know what it was. Hourglass did not live in any particular land, and had never made an attempt to settle into one, either. The Alliance had piqued her interest, but being made of glass she had forced herself to push it from her mind. Perhaps in a different life she could have been a fighter. In this one, though, she has resigned herself to the fact that she is too fragile for such things. “Did you fight in it?” she asks him with the faintest hint of admiration, her glass-heart quickening just a little at the thought.
She laughs good-naturedly at his teasing remark about mainlanders and war, and her glossy, copper shoulder rolls in a way reminiscent of a shrug. “I don’t live in any of the lands, but they do seem to have a fondness for fighting.” Catching onto the way he had referred to them, she comments curiously, “You must live on one of the islands, then?”
hourglass
— with this love like a hole,
swallow my soul —
swallow my soul —