”How dare you.”
The words come tumbling from her dark mouth, falling down like Tower of Babel must have when they forgot to listen, when they forgot to hear. The world around them is quiet, drowned out by the gloom and Taigan clime. The world around them is dark but Lilliana can see it - the thing that comes creeping through the fog.
(There is so little light and it is so inevitably dim. From what the stars relent, she knows that luster. She knows that hue of gold. It’s the exact reason why Craft was chosen to live, why Anatomy was left to die.)
Her crimson ears pin, bury themselves into the thick of her red mane that has started to curl from the ocean moisture.
She has given and given; she says nothing when he stalks through the outskirts of these woods. Lilliana gives no warning to the other Taigan’s who call this place home, gives no word of warning to Neverwhere in the North of the thing that is lingering in the boundaries of her kingdom. When he comes, he brightens the eyes of her boys and so she just smiles. Lilliana says nothing when she sees the pale iridescent sheen of his youngest daughter lurking the fog. She looks away. She hides her shock when her eldest boy comes home with a bright red feather as a token, when he beams at her that he’s like the man from her stories. He has a feather too.
Lilliana keeps giving until there is nothing left.
She keeps quiet for the sake of her boys - the only light left shining in this darkness.
(Her fault, she knows. It’s her fault. She and the stars and Wolfbane should have never crossed paths. The stars should have stayed firmly put in the sky.)
A scowl burns its way across her fine features and her blue eyes are fire; what little light there is can be found burning there instead.
The chestnut mare sharply turns towards the shadowed thing and her mind gone blank, rages.
”You don’t get to say that. Not to-,”
It’s the words that come next, soothing like midsummer storms after long and humid days. It’s a language she knows. The language of dreamers. There are many things that can be manipulated. But never this. Lilliana had grown up speaking this language and apart from Kagerus, the only other tongue who might know it better than her is, "@[Elaina]?”
Lilli takes in the proud contours, the limited gilt shining through the darkness and she knows. "Oh Gods,” she chokes. Fumbling forward, desperate to close the gap between their sides, she says it again. "Oh, Gods.” It’s the cornsilk of her mane that her dark mouth finds first, then the assurance of her graceful neck. There is warmth coming from her, a brine that stings her nostrils in different ways than her Taigan beaches do. Elaina, so achingly solid and familiar beneath her touch, feels so deliriously solid in a world that she’s turned upside down.
"I’m sorry,” she murmurs, fervently quiet. "I am so, so sorry.”
The words come tumbling from her dark mouth, falling down like Tower of Babel must have when they forgot to listen, when they forgot to hear. The world around them is quiet, drowned out by the gloom and Taigan clime. The world around them is dark but Lilliana can see it - the thing that comes creeping through the fog.
(There is so little light and it is so inevitably dim. From what the stars relent, she knows that luster. She knows that hue of gold. It’s the exact reason why Craft was chosen to live, why Anatomy was left to die.)
Her crimson ears pin, bury themselves into the thick of her red mane that has started to curl from the ocean moisture.
She has given and given; she says nothing when he stalks through the outskirts of these woods. Lilliana gives no warning to the other Taigan’s who call this place home, gives no word of warning to Neverwhere in the North of the thing that is lingering in the boundaries of her kingdom. When he comes, he brightens the eyes of her boys and so she just smiles. Lilliana says nothing when she sees the pale iridescent sheen of his youngest daughter lurking the fog. She looks away. She hides her shock when her eldest boy comes home with a bright red feather as a token, when he beams at her that he’s like the man from her stories. He has a feather too.
Lilliana keeps giving until there is nothing left.
She keeps quiet for the sake of her boys - the only light left shining in this darkness.
(Her fault, she knows. It’s her fault. She and the stars and Wolfbane should have never crossed paths. The stars should have stayed firmly put in the sky.)
A scowl burns its way across her fine features and her blue eyes are fire; what little light there is can be found burning there instead.
The chestnut mare sharply turns towards the shadowed thing and her mind gone blank, rages.
”You don’t get to say that. Not to-,”
It’s the words that come next, soothing like midsummer storms after long and humid days. It’s a language she knows. The language of dreamers. There are many things that can be manipulated. But never this. Lilliana had grown up speaking this language and apart from Kagerus, the only other tongue who might know it better than her is, "@[Elaina]?”
Lilli takes in the proud contours, the limited gilt shining through the darkness and she knows. "Oh Gods,” she chokes. Fumbling forward, desperate to close the gap between their sides, she says it again. "Oh, Gods.” It’s the cornsilk of her mane that her dark mouth finds first, then the assurance of her graceful neck. There is warmth coming from her, a brine that stings her nostrils in different ways than her Taigan beaches do. Elaina, so achingly solid and familiar beneath her touch, feels so deliriously solid in a world that she’s turned upside down.
"I’m sorry,” she murmurs, fervently quiet. "I am so, so sorry.”
LILLIANA
all that i'm after is a life full of laughter
(as long as i'm laughing with you)
but it's all in the past, love
it's all gone with the wind