02-15-2021, 10:56 PM
Ryatah
— there's something tragic about you, something so magic about you, don't you agree?
She is not afraid of the dark or the things that lurk in it, but she forgets that her children are not so familiar. When Sela wanted to branch away to explore she hesitated, but she did not tell him no. She did not know how long this night was going to last, and while Este was too weak to follow her brother, it seemed unfair to keep Sela tethered at her side. It would be better for him to learn and grow in the dark, she thought, than to be taught to be afraid of it.
He is still small though, and she is tracking the minutes, hours that he is gone. She had made him promise to not be gone long, but after raising so many children she knew how they could be; they had different ideas of what was considered too long. With her lips idly smoothing over Este’s down-soft mane she tries to ignore the worry that is settling like a veil over her.
Until it begins to feel too heavy.
Until that faint worry turns into a sinking stone in her gut, the kind of intuition she has learned to not ignore.
“Stay here, Este,” she murmurs to the rose-dappled girl curled on the ground, though the odds of the girl trying to follow her anywhere were slim. “Atrox will be back soon, but I’m going to find your brother.”
Pushing down the guilt she feels at having to leave Este defenseless and alone, she does not dare to glance over her shoulder as she walks away; she does not want to see the darkness swallow her small, trembling body as her own angelic glow follows her retreating form.
Hyaline seemed oddly quiet, in a way that was unsettling. There was no faint rustling of the shifting residents, hardly even a stir of the branches in the wind. It did nothing to quell the fear rising like a wave in her chest, but she refuses to let herself drown in it. Though her heart beats quickly and every muscle is drawn taut she keeps her steps light and quiet, searching and waiting for any sound that she could follow.
It comes, then, as a distant cry.
His voice is so small in the great expanse of dark but she hears it clear as anything. She follows it, tracks it until it leads her to him and the broken, bleeding form that she recognizes as one of Agetta’s daughters. “Sela,” she murmurs to him soothingly, reaching to pull him to her chest gently. Her lips press to the top of his head but her eyes are on Maze, to where bone is exposed beneath flesh, to the blood that saturates the ground around her.
She has never healed anyone with injuries like this before; has never brought anyone back from near death and she feels the doubt creeping into her mind. She steps forward, touches her nose to Maze’s cheek, and begins to heal her. Slowly skin begins to knit itself back together, broken bones and torn muscles mending beneath her touch. It is not flawless; she is sure she will scar, but she is also sure that she will live.
Maze’s blood stains her porcelain-white lips by the time she is done, is smeared across her legs and chest from moving around her, and her glow seems to have faded from using so much of her power in one sitting. She looks back to Sela, can see the guilt and sorrow on his face, and she feels her heart begin to crumble. “She’s going to be okay, Sela. I promise,” she does not have to lie, does not have to fake any kind of confidence. She is sure that Maze will live, but she wishes, mostly, that she could heal the guilt from Sela that he should not even be feeling.
He is still small though, and she is tracking the minutes, hours that he is gone. She had made him promise to not be gone long, but after raising so many children she knew how they could be; they had different ideas of what was considered too long. With her lips idly smoothing over Este’s down-soft mane she tries to ignore the worry that is settling like a veil over her.
Until it begins to feel too heavy.
Until that faint worry turns into a sinking stone in her gut, the kind of intuition she has learned to not ignore.
“Stay here, Este,” she murmurs to the rose-dappled girl curled on the ground, though the odds of the girl trying to follow her anywhere were slim. “Atrox will be back soon, but I’m going to find your brother.”
Pushing down the guilt she feels at having to leave Este defenseless and alone, she does not dare to glance over her shoulder as she walks away; she does not want to see the darkness swallow her small, trembling body as her own angelic glow follows her retreating form.
Hyaline seemed oddly quiet, in a way that was unsettling. There was no faint rustling of the shifting residents, hardly even a stir of the branches in the wind. It did nothing to quell the fear rising like a wave in her chest, but she refuses to let herself drown in it. Though her heart beats quickly and every muscle is drawn taut she keeps her steps light and quiet, searching and waiting for any sound that she could follow.
It comes, then, as a distant cry.
His voice is so small in the great expanse of dark but she hears it clear as anything. She follows it, tracks it until it leads her to him and the broken, bleeding form that she recognizes as one of Agetta’s daughters. “Sela,” she murmurs to him soothingly, reaching to pull him to her chest gently. Her lips press to the top of his head but her eyes are on Maze, to where bone is exposed beneath flesh, to the blood that saturates the ground around her.
She has never healed anyone with injuries like this before; has never brought anyone back from near death and she feels the doubt creeping into her mind. She steps forward, touches her nose to Maze’s cheek, and begins to heal her. Slowly skin begins to knit itself back together, broken bones and torn muscles mending beneath her touch. It is not flawless; she is sure she will scar, but she is also sure that she will live.
Maze’s blood stains her porcelain-white lips by the time she is done, is smeared across her legs and chest from moving around her, and her glow seems to have faded from using so much of her power in one sitting. She looks back to Sela, can see the guilt and sorrow on his face, and she feels her heart begin to crumble. “She’s going to be okay, Sela. I promise,” she does not have to lie, does not have to fake any kind of confidence. She is sure that Maze will live, but she wishes, mostly, that she could heal the guilt from Sela that he should not even be feeling.
there's something wretched about this, something so precious about this, oh what a sin —
WOW did someone order some really bad word vomit that makes no sense because HERE YOU GO