i have loved the stars too fondly
He began in darkness. Cool and quiet, safe, tucked up to his chin in sheets made of inky silk. He was created by passion and sunlight, by fire and warmth, and yet came out made of all the opposite things. Not opposite as hate is opposite to love, but as night and day are simply two half of the same thing. He is the missing piece of all that they are, his skin a blue so deep it looks black, the stars etched and glowing in his skin. He looks nothing like them, and yet he is very much the pieces of them blended into one.
The daylight is a bright thing, and he blinks, trying to blink it away. He already misses the confines of the womb, the only light that of his own glowing skin, the only sounds the murmur of his mother’s voice and the steady beating of her heart. This new world is strange, filled with color and light, sights and sounds, that all seem meaningless to him right now.
Instead he focuses on her face. It is familiar, though he has never seen his mother’s face. Yet still he knows her, can hear the echo of her heartbeat in his own. He knows the warmth of her, the smell of her, because he is of her and she is safe. She is the blanket of darkness he misses in this strange new place, and so he focuses on what he knows. For now, his world is tiny. Someday, it will be so much more.
to be fearful of the night
aedan