that day even the sun was afraid of you and the weight you carried
Firion prefers the night these days—if only because everything in his bones now sings for it. A cruel trick, he thinks, to make him crave the thing that nearly killed him. But the sun gives him a headache that does not fully abate and he finds his skin crawls when it reaches its peak, setting his teeth on edge. Even his new powers do little to dull the sense of dread, the wrongness that settles in his bones, and he wonders if the world enjoys giving him gifts to rip it away. Replacing his curse with magic that draws him back to the time of his nightmares. Forcing him to live in the hours that once housed the very worse of him.
Today, he fights it, staying awake during the day and finding relief when the sun began its descent.
The twilight that is promised in the later afternoon is welcome, and as he walks amongst the crowds who have gathered to cherish the returned sun, he sighs deeply. It’s only when he sees the familiar coloring that he pauses at all, peering through the shadows to study the extinct animal sunning itself. His magic reaches out without thought, responding to his curiosity more than anything, touching the barest edges of her mind as though to confirm that it is indeed Mazikeen before him—that he wasn’t seeing things.
When he feels that confirmation, he isn’t sure whether it draws him forward or sends him back.
So, instead, he remains stone still, his golden face falling into harsh lines—guilt bleeding into rage, dissolving into a desperate need to flee. The muddled confusion of it burns like coals in his gut but, despite his better judgment, he begins to walk toward her. Without thinking, he turns incorporeal, his edges becoming translucent and as immaterial as heat waves rising up on a summer day. His shadow follows doggedly behind him as he floats forward, eyes as sharp as ever, even in this form. Once he is several yards away, he stops, magic roiling in his gut and coming off him in thunderous waves.
“You’ll understand why I wanted to make sure you could not touch me this time.”
A half-joke that loses its humor on the sharpened edge of his voice.
Then, just a dip of his head, before he acknowledges her fully,
“Mazikeen.”
so you saluted every ghost you've ever prayed to and then buried it where bones are buried
@[Mazikeen]