This world is not the one he has known for so long.
It is different and he finds that even though he is back, even though life roars through his veins once more, it is difficult to feel grounded. He feels himself on the other side of a veil more often than not, feels that faint otherness as though others may pass straight through him—leaving him gasping and alone. It makes him more introverted than he had been in his past life, leaves him wandering and looking for things that might anchor him—even when he knows that the greatest anchor of all still exists here.
Tonight he wanders the meadow in the pitch of night. His eagle wings fold over his back and he tips his head back to stare at the stars, to wonder if they are the same heavens that he had once pondered at the Gates when he wore that ancient crown of they, too, have since perished and been reborn.
Would he always feel this melancholy ache?
Would he never feel really here?
These are the things that he has no answer for and he sighs in acceptance, turning back to where the shadows grow darker and the night fades into something deeper and more compelling.
From the corner of his eye, he sees a flash of white, and soon after, catches the scent of her—as sweet as the flowers that bloomed in their shared home. His handsome face warms but never catches fire, his lips only curving even as his chestnut eyes spark. “Agetta,” her name is soothing, like warm honey, and he finds it chases the demons from the caverns of his chest as he turns to greet her like facing the sun.
PLUME
but my heart, it don’t beat, it don’t beat the way it used to