05-21-2021, 02:25 AM
Ryatah
— there's something tragic about you, something so magic about you, don't you agree?
She cannot remember the last time she was able to touch him, and yet no matter how deep the ache spreads in her chest or how far her heart seems to split apart at the idea of it, she has yet to actually die from the hurt she feels. Of course, she supposes it is impossible to die if you are already essentially dead, though if anyone were to be able to test the probability of that theory, she is sure it would be her.
But even in this horrible in-between, where she existed as a ghost among the living and everything else about her felt muted and washed out, there was still an ember of hope in her chest. It was not the soft, wistful kind of hope; it was desperate and ugly, a lifeline she was clinging to keep from drowning. It was what made her reach for him every day to see if today would be the day their skin finally would meet again, that she might again trace the familiar curve of his jaw with her lips or feel the sharpness of his teeth against her side.
And every day for the past year, they are greeted with the same disappointment. She would catch the hard glint of his eye, see the way they sharpened like cut diamonds, and even though she knew it was not anger directed at her it was enough to make her recoil, to whisper the same weak apology that he has heard a hundred times. She was not surprised that the universe was punishing her this way. For years it has watched her destroy anything good she ever had, and of course it would not be enough to repent her sins by trying to love him the right way—of course she would still be paying for all of the things she has done.
The sun returned, and she could not even find it in herself to care, because she did not return with it.
Weeks went by, and soon spring came to Hyaline. She is alone beneath the fading sun, only partially paying attention to where it dipped in the sky; perhaps absentmindedly wondering if it was going to come back when it left, but she is so used to leaving or being left that she had learned it was no use to beg things to stay.
A cold breeze whips from behind, and she pulls her wings closer instinctively, at first not noticing that she had felt the coolness against her skin or the way it wound through her pale feathers. It is the shower of stardust floating around her that causes her to still, to stare in confusion and surprise when she realizes the stardust had fallen from her.
She glances backward, shifting her wings—watching as the once golden feathers that had lined the edges and the underneath were now coated in a golden, shimmering stardust that lazily drifted away when she shifted them. But they are solid and whole and real and the way her heart leaps into her throat sends her away from where she had stood, desperate to see if it’s true.
When she finds him she is breathless and glowing, the dark having finally settled in enough that her brilliant aura—seemingly brighter than it used to be, but maybe just a trick of the eye after being dim for so long—is unmistakable. She pauses for only a moment, her nearly black eyes glimmering and uncertain as she takes him in, suddenly afraid that she has perhaps set herself up for an impossible letdown. Her steps to him are slow, leaving behind her a faint trail of stardust in her wake, but when she is alongside him she throws all caution aside. Touching her pale nose to the strong curve of his neck she is greeted by the warm, solidness of his skin, and her heart again jumps into her throat.
“Finally,” the word is a choked whisper, burying her nose into the crook of his throat and closing her eyes, afraid that pulling away would somehow send it all crashing down.
But even in this horrible in-between, where she existed as a ghost among the living and everything else about her felt muted and washed out, there was still an ember of hope in her chest. It was not the soft, wistful kind of hope; it was desperate and ugly, a lifeline she was clinging to keep from drowning. It was what made her reach for him every day to see if today would be the day their skin finally would meet again, that she might again trace the familiar curve of his jaw with her lips or feel the sharpness of his teeth against her side.
And every day for the past year, they are greeted with the same disappointment. She would catch the hard glint of his eye, see the way they sharpened like cut diamonds, and even though she knew it was not anger directed at her it was enough to make her recoil, to whisper the same weak apology that he has heard a hundred times. She was not surprised that the universe was punishing her this way. For years it has watched her destroy anything good she ever had, and of course it would not be enough to repent her sins by trying to love him the right way—of course she would still be paying for all of the things she has done.
The sun returned, and she could not even find it in herself to care, because she did not return with it.
Weeks went by, and soon spring came to Hyaline. She is alone beneath the fading sun, only partially paying attention to where it dipped in the sky; perhaps absentmindedly wondering if it was going to come back when it left, but she is so used to leaving or being left that she had learned it was no use to beg things to stay.
A cold breeze whips from behind, and she pulls her wings closer instinctively, at first not noticing that she had felt the coolness against her skin or the way it wound through her pale feathers. It is the shower of stardust floating around her that causes her to still, to stare in confusion and surprise when she realizes the stardust had fallen from her.
She glances backward, shifting her wings—watching as the once golden feathers that had lined the edges and the underneath were now coated in a golden, shimmering stardust that lazily drifted away when she shifted them. But they are solid and whole and real and the way her heart leaps into her throat sends her away from where she had stood, desperate to see if it’s true.
When she finds him she is breathless and glowing, the dark having finally settled in enough that her brilliant aura—seemingly brighter than it used to be, but maybe just a trick of the eye after being dim for so long—is unmistakable. She pauses for only a moment, her nearly black eyes glimmering and uncertain as she takes him in, suddenly afraid that she has perhaps set herself up for an impossible letdown. Her steps to him are slow, leaving behind her a faint trail of stardust in her wake, but when she is alongside him she throws all caution aside. Touching her pale nose to the strong curve of his neck she is greeted by the warm, solidness of his skin, and her heart again jumps into her throat.
“Finally,” the word is a choked whisper, burying her nose into the crook of his throat and closing her eyes, afraid that pulling away would somehow send it all crashing down.
there's something wretched about this, something so precious about this, oh what a sin —