05-26-2021, 07:48 PM
selaphiel
Because he had let the curious pressure in his chest chase him out of Hyaline.
(How strange that it seemed to ease the closer he got to the forest and then, when he’d crossed into the shadows of those great trees, it had gone altogether.)
And this is for the best because the sight of her surely would have taken him to his knees. (Would he have had the strength to get up again? Surely someone so young could not watch a friend die twice.)
There is comfort in the forest’s crushing darkness because it is the darkness he is most accustomed to. He was born in the darkness, created there. It was in the darkness that he learned how to navigate the terrain in Hyaline, learned how to make himself scarce. (This is a task made all the more difficult now by the way the deep, glacial crevasses in his skin glow bright blue now.)
He is not a thing that begs to be unseen now. No, he is something of a beacon, Selaphiel, as he moves slowly through the forest and wonders if perhaps today will be the day that he teaches himself to fly. (No, no, the canopy overhead is thick, crowded, hardly any light gets through. One cannot learn to fly in the forest.)
He is not a coltish thing anymore. He has grown into himself, the wings. There is nothing childish left in him. To the children, he must look like the rest of the adults and he is grateful for this because he never felt like a child himself. Always too solemn, too serious.
Especially now, as he moves through the forest, trying so hard not to smell death here.
I just bite my tongue a bit harder
(no chaos week shenanigans please)