oh, these wings, they flicker and my feathers stir
'til I'm an ancient soul in a cascade world
“You could,” he agrees, although the getting somewhere doesn’t matter as much to him as the idea of just going. The feeling of wind beneath your limbs. Of the skies lifting you aloft and keeping you there. He doesn’t know if there is anywhere in particular that he would want to go except the skies themselves.
Still, he keeps such childish notions to himself, tucking them away where they cannot embarrass him.
Bringing his gaze back to her, he thinks about his sister and that genuine smile creeps back onto his face. It warms his features in a way that he cannot completely obscure with the gravity of his seriousness. The longer that he is with her, the more it eats away at him until he feels more and more vulnerable.
“She is everything that I am not,” he says, in a way that makes it clear that is a good thing. “She is fun and loud and adventurous.” Even this, though, is not stained with jealous—in much the same way that he had not been jealous talking about his father. He loved them so much, the idea of jealousy is foreign.
“You would like her, I think.”
Everyone does, he knows.
When his thoughts return to Astrum, he feels a pang in his chest. “I don’t know,” he answers, honestly. She is kind to him, he thinks, although the word is not quite right. She is a piece of him. A part of his soul severed and hung from the night sky. Could your own blood be kind to you? Could it be nice?
“She doesn't always like strangers,” this much is true, at least. He knows how she often grows irritated when he ruins their time together at night with the presence of someone else. How possessive she can be.
He thinks to maybe soften it. To tell her that she will be different, but he is not so sure.
So he grows quiet and solemn instead.
and I'm quick with the bullet when it comes undone
I got a head like a turret with a mouth for a gun
