12-17-2020, 06:54 PM
He had never thought much about happiness, Savior.
He’d never had to.
He had always found his happiness in the simple things: the cold glory of winters in the meadow, the dense heat and thick humidity in Tephra, the weight of the dragon’s heart in his chest.
He had always come by a certain amount of joy simply by being alive, a gift that he had not necessarily deserved but was grateful for all the same.
But this happiness, the elation he feels as he ventures through his home, is something altogether different. It pulses in the cavern of his chest like a second heart, spirals through the network of his veins, loiters in the furthest corners of his mouth (which holds onto a smile that he does not bother to try and suppress).
How strange it is to find that there is such a stark contrast between inherent happiness and happiness with a cause. He feels weightless. Rootless. Untouched by gravity. He feels as if he has been freed from every shackle that has ever kept him grounded. He moves through his home in search of Casimira and their perfect children with a step so light that he appears to be floating.
And when he finds them?
When he finds them, the smile that has lingered in the corners of his mouth expands to fit his whole face. He goes to them, bright-eyed and breathless, and does not try to steel himself against the tremor that steals down the length of his spine when she touches him.
He has never known happiness like this and he has some suspicion that he never will again.
He turns to bump his nose against her shoulder in turn, exhaling a warm breath across her skin.
“They are far more beautiful than me,” he counters with that same tranquil smile, “they get that from you.”
He casts a glance in the children’s direction, the two of them distracted by each other, and Savior’s smile deepens. “Thank you for having them here,” he murmurs, as if she had done it for his sake alone. He knows that Tephra is no longer her home and that she will have to leave eventually but he does not allow himself to dwell on it lest a kind of sadness pollutes all of his tremendous happiness.
He’d never had to.
He had always found his happiness in the simple things: the cold glory of winters in the meadow, the dense heat and thick humidity in Tephra, the weight of the dragon’s heart in his chest.
He had always come by a certain amount of joy simply by being alive, a gift that he had not necessarily deserved but was grateful for all the same.
But this happiness, the elation he feels as he ventures through his home, is something altogether different. It pulses in the cavern of his chest like a second heart, spirals through the network of his veins, loiters in the furthest corners of his mouth (which holds onto a smile that he does not bother to try and suppress).
How strange it is to find that there is such a stark contrast between inherent happiness and happiness with a cause. He feels weightless. Rootless. Untouched by gravity. He feels as if he has been freed from every shackle that has ever kept him grounded. He moves through his home in search of Casimira and their perfect children with a step so light that he appears to be floating.
And when he finds them?
When he finds them, the smile that has lingered in the corners of his mouth expands to fit his whole face. He goes to them, bright-eyed and breathless, and does not try to steel himself against the tremor that steals down the length of his spine when she touches him.
He has never known happiness like this and he has some suspicion that he never will again.
He turns to bump his nose against her shoulder in turn, exhaling a warm breath across her skin.
“They are far more beautiful than me,” he counters with that same tranquil smile, “they get that from you.”
He casts a glance in the children’s direction, the two of them distracted by each other, and Savior’s smile deepens. “Thank you for having them here,” he murmurs, as if she had done it for his sake alone. He knows that Tephra is no longer her home and that she will have to leave eventually but he does not allow himself to dwell on it lest a kind of sadness pollutes all of his tremendous happiness.
SAVIOR
you remind me who i was and who i want to be
you remind me that though not whole, i'm not empty
you remind me that though not whole, i'm not empty
@[Casimira]