12-13-2017, 11:07 AM
Don't say I'm out of touch with this rampant chaos; your reality.
I know well what lies beyond my sleeping refuge.
I know well what lies beyond my sleeping refuge.
She comes to him as she always had – quietly, gently, before the sun has even touched the edge of the horizon, with only the palest gold amid a splendor of indigo to give promise to the idea that it will rise. The starlit sky is as breathtaking as always, and she is quietly marveling at how barren the vast and empty canvas is – if not for the constellations, it might be naked. Exposed. Even the volcano is quiet, surely rumbling beneath the surface but there are no heavy plumes of smoke to shroud the island in a haze of gray, and so the view is unfiltered, unmarred. It is perfection.
She would miss the dry grass caressing the underside of her belly, and the warm spring carved into the soft and supple ground, as if it had been made only to rest weary bones in and nothing more. She would miss the crevices carved into the mountainside, where solace and tranquility could be found, and she would miss the sea cave that opened at the mouth to the tumultuous and roiling ocean tide, where she had birthed her children. Where she first felt her love for Dahmer blossom in the early morning light, as he cradled a son born from unexpected circumstances as if he held the entire world to his heart.
Her cheek brushes against his shoulder, dark in contrast to her own, as the soft ivory of her own finely preened feathers entangle with his of deep cobalt. Side by side. Her good eye is settled upon him, observing the intensity of his stare, knowing that he must be lost to his own contemplation – about the starlight, the island, anything at all. The burden and weight (and honor and glory) of the crown is heavy but he is wearing it well. Standing taller. Standing brighter. A faint smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, knowing that the information she carried to him would be difficult, and somehow trying.
He would be disappointed. Angry, even? She hoped not, but she had promised Dahmer she would follow him to whatever end, and she meant it. He held her heart, and she had never been content to simply be, and her time amid the sulfur and volcanic rock had come to an end. She cannot suppress the hope that he will understand; that he would see Dahmer and her taking the helm of Sylva (that of which has caused so much pain and suffering to so many!) as a good thing. An alliance. A strengthened bond, across the anxious sea and over the rolling hilltops, through the endless forest.
She could only hope that he would see it as she does; as Dahmer does.
I will be here for as long as you need me, Warrick, she told him.
She meant it.
Should she need to travel from Sylva to Tephra and back with each rise and fall of the sun, she would.
For him.
”Warrick,” she muses, interrupting him from what is sure to be a heavy cloaking of thought. ”I need to speak with you.”
She would miss the dry grass caressing the underside of her belly, and the warm spring carved into the soft and supple ground, as if it had been made only to rest weary bones in and nothing more. She would miss the crevices carved into the mountainside, where solace and tranquility could be found, and she would miss the sea cave that opened at the mouth to the tumultuous and roiling ocean tide, where she had birthed her children. Where she first felt her love for Dahmer blossom in the early morning light, as he cradled a son born from unexpected circumstances as if he held the entire world to his heart.
Her cheek brushes against his shoulder, dark in contrast to her own, as the soft ivory of her own finely preened feathers entangle with his of deep cobalt. Side by side. Her good eye is settled upon him, observing the intensity of his stare, knowing that he must be lost to his own contemplation – about the starlight, the island, anything at all. The burden and weight (and honor and glory) of the crown is heavy but he is wearing it well. Standing taller. Standing brighter. A faint smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, knowing that the information she carried to him would be difficult, and somehow trying.
He would be disappointed. Angry, even? She hoped not, but she had promised Dahmer she would follow him to whatever end, and she meant it. He held her heart, and she had never been content to simply be, and her time amid the sulfur and volcanic rock had come to an end. She cannot suppress the hope that he will understand; that he would see Dahmer and her taking the helm of Sylva (that of which has caused so much pain and suffering to so many!) as a good thing. An alliance. A strengthened bond, across the anxious sea and over the rolling hilltops, through the endless forest.
She could only hope that he would see it as she does; as Dahmer does.
I will be here for as long as you need me, Warrick, she told him.
She meant it.
Should she need to travel from Sylva to Tephra and back with each rise and fall of the sun, she would.
For him.
”Warrick,” she muses, interrupting him from what is sure to be a heavy cloaking of thought. ”I need to speak with you.”
Ellyse
(The nightmare) I built my own world to escape
@[Warrick]