09-25-2021, 01:17 PM
liesma
His mother.
And he’s right, it’s not pity that darkens her expression but confusion. It furrows her soft, star-kissed brow and she studies him a long moment.
He does not elaborate and she does not immediately ask him to. Instead, she lets the silence yawn between them. Instead, she thinks about her own mother. The ferocity of her conviction, the thunderstorm in her chest. How she had touched her gently and told her that she was beautiful, that she was loved. She cannot imagine her own mother telling her that she was anything other than what she was: a force of nature.
She glances from his face to the line of flames that rise from his spine. (If she touched them, would they burn her?)
She draws in a long breath and fixes her focus to his face again.
“Why would she say that?” she asks, unaware that it might be improper. She does not know yet that it is impolite to lance old wounds, especially those of your friends. For the moment, she is only a curious child who has never known anything but deep, unfathomable love, and she cannot understand how a mother could say a thing like this.
She offers him no comfort, only watches. Waits for a change in his expression. The smile has long since faded but she does not chase it. She is not unkind, Liesma, she simply does not know any better.
And he’s right, it’s not pity that darkens her expression but confusion. It furrows her soft, star-kissed brow and she studies him a long moment.
He does not elaborate and she does not immediately ask him to. Instead, she lets the silence yawn between them. Instead, she thinks about her own mother. The ferocity of her conviction, the thunderstorm in her chest. How she had touched her gently and told her that she was beautiful, that she was loved. She cannot imagine her own mother telling her that she was anything other than what she was: a force of nature.
She glances from his face to the line of flames that rise from his spine. (If she touched them, would they burn her?)
She draws in a long breath and fixes her focus to his face again.
“Why would she say that?” she asks, unaware that it might be improper. She does not know yet that it is impolite to lance old wounds, especially those of your friends. For the moment, she is only a curious child who has never known anything but deep, unfathomable love, and she cannot understand how a mother could say a thing like this.
She offers him no comfort, only watches. Waits for a change in his expression. The smile has long since faded but she does not chase it. She is not unkind, Liesma, she simply does not know any better.
i see you shining through the treetops
But i don’t feel you pulling strings anymore
But i don’t feel you pulling strings anymore
@Fyr