04-23-2022, 04:19 PM
You think I'll be the dark sky so you can be the star?
I'll swallow you whole.
I'll swallow you whole.
She is different, yet in some ways entirely unchanged.
She is still captive in this earthbound body, still limited in her connection with the stars (limited only because she had been one, once; she is sure anyone else would be more than satisfied with what power she does have over them). Emotions are still a mostly elusive thing, too; like fog, they are something that she can see and she understands what they are, but she can’t hold onto them. They slip past her like water over rocks, and while once she had thought they were the key to her learning to survive in this world, she now simply watches them as they drift by, unbothered.
It is only for Tiercel and their children that she is different.
It is only for them that her star-spun heart developed any kind of capacity for love, where she learned what it meant to have something to live and die for.
Because of them she looks to the stars less and less, and when she does it is not because she is trying to calculate a way to get back.
She does not mourn the life that she had lost, does not long to return to a place and time that she could never possibly describe anyway. Now, when she stands with face upturned, with silver moonlight colliding against the starlit glow that radiates off her skin, it is only with a quiet kind of nostalgia. She misses it, as much as she can miss anything, but she is placated by her life with Tiercel.
Loess, the only place that had almost been a home in this place, rested now at the bottom of a newly-formed sea. She should mourn the loss of it but she does not, and instead leaves it behind as easily as she left everything else—her mother and a twin sister, the scorched canyons of Pangea, and all these other earthly things she did not quite understand—but she does not leave behind Tiercel or their children. She drifts with them instead in the common lands, though tonight, she is alone.
Tonight she stands on a small knoll at the edge of the meadow, the sky above unmarred by clouds so that the expanse of stars and moonlight stretches before her. Just above her hovers several small orbs of starlight that she has fashioned into makeshift stars, and idly she rearranges them into various constellations; some familiar, some new, and some that only she knows.
She is alone, for now, content in the quiet around her, and the silent conversation that exists between only her and the stars.
She is still captive in this earthbound body, still limited in her connection with the stars (limited only because she had been one, once; she is sure anyone else would be more than satisfied with what power she does have over them). Emotions are still a mostly elusive thing, too; like fog, they are something that she can see and she understands what they are, but she can’t hold onto them. They slip past her like water over rocks, and while once she had thought they were the key to her learning to survive in this world, she now simply watches them as they drift by, unbothered.
It is only for Tiercel and their children that she is different.
It is only for them that her star-spun heart developed any kind of capacity for love, where she learned what it meant to have something to live and die for.
Because of them she looks to the stars less and less, and when she does it is not because she is trying to calculate a way to get back.
She does not mourn the life that she had lost, does not long to return to a place and time that she could never possibly describe anyway. Now, when she stands with face upturned, with silver moonlight colliding against the starlit glow that radiates off her skin, it is only with a quiet kind of nostalgia. She misses it, as much as she can miss anything, but she is placated by her life with Tiercel.
Loess, the only place that had almost been a home in this place, rested now at the bottom of a newly-formed sea. She should mourn the loss of it but she does not, and instead leaves it behind as easily as she left everything else—her mother and a twin sister, the scorched canyons of Pangea, and all these other earthly things she did not quite understand—but she does not leave behind Tiercel or their children. She drifts with them instead in the common lands, though tonight, she is alone.
Tonight she stands on a small knoll at the edge of the meadow, the sky above unmarred by clouds so that the expanse of stars and moonlight stretches before her. Just above her hovers several small orbs of starlight that she has fashioned into makeshift stars, and idly she rearranges them into various constellations; some familiar, some new, and some that only she knows.
She is alone, for now, content in the quiet around her, and the silent conversation that exists between only her and the stars.
Islas
