06-23-2024, 10:37 PM
asterope—
“Sickle!”
In some softer world, Asterope would have scrambled out of the water, flung herself into the shadows, curled herself around her friend and been content to cling to her.
Alas, there is nothing soft here.
And so she remains in the water, straining, heart pounding.
(There had been something different in the voice, something unfamiliar, but she would have recognized it anywhere. For how often had she heard it in her dreams? When she’d descended to the bottom of that murky water and let her mind carry her off to someplace sweeter, a place where Sickle had not been gone so long and they had swam together there and Asterope had stared up at the flowers her friend had brought for so long that their shape started to change.)
She gasps for breath, thinking for one brief moment that perhaps this is some cruel joke spun by the dark magician. Why else would Sickle not have shown herself?
She falters, sinks by a fraction and tilts her head, staring toward the source of the sound.
“Sickle?” Uncertain this time, wary.
“Is it really you?”
In some softer world, Asterope would have scrambled out of the water, flung herself into the shadows, curled herself around her friend and been content to cling to her.
Alas, there is nothing soft here.
And so she remains in the water, straining, heart pounding.
(There had been something different in the voice, something unfamiliar, but she would have recognized it anywhere. For how often had she heard it in her dreams? When she’d descended to the bottom of that murky water and let her mind carry her off to someplace sweeter, a place where Sickle had not been gone so long and they had swam together there and Asterope had stared up at the flowers her friend had brought for so long that their shape started to change.)
She gasps for breath, thinking for one brief moment that perhaps this is some cruel joke spun by the dark magician. Why else would Sickle not have shown herself?
She falters, sinks by a fraction and tilts her head, staring toward the source of the sound.
“Sickle?” Uncertain this time, wary.
“Is it really you?”
—what was it like to feel in love?
@Sickle