03-09-2021, 02:55 PM
THESE DAYS I DON’T PRAY WHEN I CLOSE MY EYES
I JUST BITE MY TONGUE A BIT HARDER
I JUST BITE MY TONGUE A BIT HARDER
He has tried so desperately to make himself scarce. He has lingered near the edge of the forest because he has not found anyplace else to go. Because he has not yet worked up the courage to fully separate himself from his mother, from Este. He has watched them from afar, crawling with the urge to go to them, humming with nervous energy.
Waiting, always waiting.
Wanting, always wanting.
Sometimes he holds his breath hard and fast and he steals into their midst and he kisses his sister’s head fiercely. He whispers to her how much he loves her and misses her and that he will be here waiting for her always. And then he has to flee before the air goes rank with the stench of death again. He has to flee before they find him and remember that he is not welcome here.
And he always steals one last glance over his shoulder as they disappear from view. For days, he paces the border between Hyaline and the forest. Days and days while he waits for someone to find him. Waits for someone to remember the angel cast from ice that is not welcome here.
He remains in one spot today, though, wings folded against his side. Shivering. Trembling? Teeth gritted against the cold, though there is so much ice that lives in him. Then there is some figure that comes swimming out of the distance, bathed in fire and his heart sinks. His breath hitches and he stiffens, considers running. He has been caught.
He never got the chance to say goodbye.
Will they try to find him? Will he ever see them again?
But the closer she gets, the more familiar she is. Even without the overwhelming stench of death. He relaxes but only slightly and only by degrees. He lets out only half a breath, loosening only half of his muscles when she smiles. (He can still smell death on her, but only because he saw her die.)
“Mazikeen,” he repeats and there is something like relief in his voice, soft. He remembers that he’d regretted not learning her name. “My name is Sela,” he tells her and then corrects himself, “Selaphiel. Ryatah is my mother.” Does he say this because he thinks this might make him worthy of staying?
Waiting, always waiting.
Wanting, always wanting.
Sometimes he holds his breath hard and fast and he steals into their midst and he kisses his sister’s head fiercely. He whispers to her how much he loves her and misses her and that he will be here waiting for her always. And then he has to flee before the air goes rank with the stench of death again. He has to flee before they find him and remember that he is not welcome here.
And he always steals one last glance over his shoulder as they disappear from view. For days, he paces the border between Hyaline and the forest. Days and days while he waits for someone to find him. Waits for someone to remember the angel cast from ice that is not welcome here.
He remains in one spot today, though, wings folded against his side. Shivering. Trembling? Teeth gritted against the cold, though there is so much ice that lives in him. Then there is some figure that comes swimming out of the distance, bathed in fire and his heart sinks. His breath hitches and he stiffens, considers running. He has been caught.
He never got the chance to say goodbye.
Will they try to find him? Will he ever see them again?
But the closer she gets, the more familiar she is. Even without the overwhelming stench of death. He relaxes but only slightly and only by degrees. He lets out only half a breath, loosening only half of his muscles when she smiles. (He can still smell death on her, but only because he saw her die.)
“Mazikeen,” he repeats and there is something like relief in his voice, soft. He remembers that he’d regretted not learning her name. “My name is Sela,” he tells her and then corrects himself, “Selaphiel. Ryatah is my mother.” Does he say this because he thinks this might make him worthy of staying?
Selaphiel
@[Mazikeen]