02-19-2022, 03:12 PM
liesma—
She knows this fire.
This fire that comes swimming up out of the darkness.
Much has changed, but this has not.
The stars have gone out, winked down her throat so they might smolder in her belly, and the constellations scattered across her skin have gone dim. Because she has commanded them to. Because she wants to be cast in the flicker of his flamelight when she steps closer.
Still, she does not smile. (This has not changed.) She only looks at him, this grown thing standing before her, and remembers that she had gone looking for him once and had not found him.
(Is this a thing to be forgiven for? That he had not been there when she had wanted him to be? No, he owes her nothing. No, he and his strange friends do not need forgiveness.)
She shifts her weight and wonders if the fire would burn should she reach out and try to touch it. Would she come away charred? Does this fire burn like the stars burn? Had she wondered these same things when he had asked to be friends with the stars?
She draws in a slow breath, studying the plains of his face. This has changed. They both have changed. They are children no longer, but something bigger. She’s got a belly full of stars and she wonders if these flames would singe her throat should she try to swallow them, too.
“Fyr,” she says, fire.
“You have been away such a terribly long time.”
This fire that comes swimming up out of the darkness.
Much has changed, but this has not.
The stars have gone out, winked down her throat so they might smolder in her belly, and the constellations scattered across her skin have gone dim. Because she has commanded them to. Because she wants to be cast in the flicker of his flamelight when she steps closer.
Still, she does not smile. (This has not changed.) She only looks at him, this grown thing standing before her, and remembers that she had gone looking for him once and had not found him.
(Is this a thing to be forgiven for? That he had not been there when she had wanted him to be? No, he owes her nothing. No, he and his strange friends do not need forgiveness.)
She shifts her weight and wonders if the fire would burn should she reach out and try to touch it. Would she come away charred? Does this fire burn like the stars burn? Had she wondered these same things when he had asked to be friends with the stars?
She draws in a slow breath, studying the plains of his face. This has changed. They both have changed. They are children no longer, but something bigger. She’s got a belly full of stars and she wonders if these flames would singe her throat should she try to swallow them, too.
“Fyr,” she says, fire.
“You have been away such a terribly long time.”
—staring at the sky
watching stars collide
@Fyr