03-13-2021, 08:29 PM
Basilica
A strange flickering catches her eye and she turns her head slow, blinking, to see that he has brought her the stars. They catch in her tail, in the tangles of her mane, and she smiles. What a wonderful dream this is, she thinks, her eyes closing heavy as her head falls back to center.
And her eyes do not open again until he reaches out to touch her, just barely, nose to nose. It runs through her like an electric shock, kicks the breath out of her chest. But she opens her eyes slow, as if she were operating underwater, smiling still. Because dreams cannot die and he has brought her the stars, this dream boy, and dream boys don’t break your heart or tell you that you were never friends.
She considers his question and draws away from his touch, arches her neck to press her mouth to the wound. The blood is real. Warm. So red. She sighs and turns back to him. “Isn’t it strange?” she asks him, the tone dreamy, otherworldly, so far removed from the strange reality of the situation. “The most peculiar balance of healing and a strong heart,” she tells him, searching his face, “they cancel each other out perfectly.” Still, she smiles.
Just a dream, just a dream.
She drags in a shaky breath as he introduces himself and exhales such a soft breath of laughter. “Orville, my name is Basilica” she coos like a prayer. “Orville, you brought me the stars,” she whispers, “thank you.”
She shakes her head, just barely. “I’m so tired,” she tells him, “I just need to rest. Just for a moment. When I wake up, I’ll stop it.”
And her eyes do not open again until he reaches out to touch her, just barely, nose to nose. It runs through her like an electric shock, kicks the breath out of her chest. But she opens her eyes slow, as if she were operating underwater, smiling still. Because dreams cannot die and he has brought her the stars, this dream boy, and dream boys don’t break your heart or tell you that you were never friends.
She considers his question and draws away from his touch, arches her neck to press her mouth to the wound. The blood is real. Warm. So red. She sighs and turns back to him. “Isn’t it strange?” she asks him, the tone dreamy, otherworldly, so far removed from the strange reality of the situation. “The most peculiar balance of healing and a strong heart,” she tells him, searching his face, “they cancel each other out perfectly.” Still, she smiles.
Just a dream, just a dream.
She drags in a shaky breath as he introduces himself and exhales such a soft breath of laughter. “Orville, my name is Basilica” she coos like a prayer. “Orville, you brought me the stars,” she whispers, “thank you.”
She shakes her head, just barely. “I’m so tired,” she tells him, “I just need to rest. Just for a moment. When I wake up, I’ll stop it.”
HEAVEN’S GATES HAD SUCH ELOQUENT GRAFFITI
@[orville]