03-13-2021, 07:10 PM
clementia
Thomas had found her and told her that he was following her mother to Pangea, that there was another child on the way. How sweet her father had been to ask her to come along, how terribly sweet to want to protect her still. And Hourglass, too. But he had not seen her in some time and neither had Clementia and she would not go without her sister.
So Thomas had gone to Pangea, as fate had always known that he would and Clementia had stayed where her sister could find her in all of that terrible darkness. She stayed rooted like a beacon, a light to guide her home.
But it has been months now and Hourglass has not come. (She does not worry as the father worries, though, because she would know in her heart if some catastrophic end had befallen her sister. She would feel it in her bones. The soul would know if its twin flame had been snuffed out.) Still, she stays. Dream-eyed and wandering, half-breathless and listless.
She thinks of the things she has touched. The beautiful things that have flitted into her reach, the things she has tasted. To think of such devastating beauty does wonders to combat the crippling effects of this unending darkness. And she wanders down to the edge of the river where she caught sight of these creatures. She thinks of the girl with honey in her hair, bees crawling across her lips. She sinks into the water until it licks greedy at her knees and then she calls it to her until it curls up her sides, fashions itself into wings that she does not try to use.
There is nowhere to go, not now.
She dips her glass mouth into the current.
It is cold just as she is cold. She exhales, disturbing the flow, oblivious to the things that teem beneath the surface.
So Thomas had gone to Pangea, as fate had always known that he would and Clementia had stayed where her sister could find her in all of that terrible darkness. She stayed rooted like a beacon, a light to guide her home.
But it has been months now and Hourglass has not come. (She does not worry as the father worries, though, because she would know in her heart if some catastrophic end had befallen her sister. She would feel it in her bones. The soul would know if its twin flame had been snuffed out.) Still, she stays. Dream-eyed and wandering, half-breathless and listless.
She thinks of the things she has touched. The beautiful things that have flitted into her reach, the things she has tasted. To think of such devastating beauty does wonders to combat the crippling effects of this unending darkness. And she wanders down to the edge of the river where she caught sight of these creatures. She thinks of the girl with honey in her hair, bees crawling across her lips. She sinks into the water until it licks greedy at her knees and then she calls it to her until it curls up her sides, fashions itself into wings that she does not try to use.
There is nowhere to go, not now.
She dips her glass mouth into the current.
It is cold just as she is cold. She exhales, disturbing the flow, oblivious to the things that teem beneath the surface.
To take me, to take you, too
@[The Monsters] please mess with her immortality and her water wings!