05-05-2023, 10:23 PM
Raea
They said it used to be called Heaven’s Gates, and that alone had been enough to pique her interest.
The term ‘heaven’ inspired imagery of golden clouds and infinite sky—of Stratos. She could not help but wonder if it is true that there is a place here on Beqanna that bears any kind of resemblance to what was almost her homeland. She had always thought if she could fit in anywhere that it would have been there; with her feathers the color of a sunrise, and the soft breeze that billowed around her, she had always felt as if she belonged in the sky rather than the sea. But her eyes—those impossibly black eyes with a single slit of silver, unique only to Baltians—and the water that spilled from her sides that sculpted itself into the shape of wings branded her as an outsider.
Not only an outsider, but an enemy.
And so she had stayed on her island—her sanctuary that felt more like a prison some days—where she could stare at the sea and at the stars, and wonder what it might be like to wholly belong to either one.
Beqanna was her chance at a fresh start, and instead she cannot stop chasing old ghosts.
But from the moment she steps into the Gates she knows this is not what she is looking for, and immediately she feels guilty for the sinking feeling in her chest. It had been foolish on her part to think that she would find a replacement for what she had lost—or never really had.
It is a beautiful place, but it is not like Stratos.
She pushes aside her own sorrow (reminding herself that it is not even her sorrow to feel—Stratos was not her home, even if it was half her blood) and ventures further into the land, taking in the unique beauty of it and letting herself see it for what it is. The rolling hills of green washed in towering purple flowers; the long limbs of the willows that sway in a gentle breeze, and the golden sun that sinks just on the horizon.
And in the corner of her eye she sees him, and her heart seems to catch in her chest.
Angel, is what immediately comes to mind, although he is nothing like any other angel she has seen. Bright white, but with ice-blue cracks across his body, and a halo of ice above his head, he is both haunting and beautiful and she realizes then that she is staring at him. Immediately she darts her gaze elsewhere, trying to ignore the flustered heat that rises in her cheeks. In all her travels here it seemed to be Baltians that she stumbled across, and now, faced with someone that reminded her of Stratos, she finds herself stricken and tongue-tied, and she had not realized she had walked closer to him until he is close enough that she can see the glacial blue of his eyes and the worry that had seemed to etch itself like cracks across his face.
“I’ve never seen an angel like you before,” she breathes, and though the wonder she feels is lost in the pitch-black of her eyes it finds its way into her soft-spoken words, even when she is nearly frozen by her own shyness.
The term ‘heaven’ inspired imagery of golden clouds and infinite sky—of Stratos. She could not help but wonder if it is true that there is a place here on Beqanna that bears any kind of resemblance to what was almost her homeland. She had always thought if she could fit in anywhere that it would have been there; with her feathers the color of a sunrise, and the soft breeze that billowed around her, she had always felt as if she belonged in the sky rather than the sea. But her eyes—those impossibly black eyes with a single slit of silver, unique only to Baltians—and the water that spilled from her sides that sculpted itself into the shape of wings branded her as an outsider.
Not only an outsider, but an enemy.
And so she had stayed on her island—her sanctuary that felt more like a prison some days—where she could stare at the sea and at the stars, and wonder what it might be like to wholly belong to either one.
Beqanna was her chance at a fresh start, and instead she cannot stop chasing old ghosts.
But from the moment she steps into the Gates she knows this is not what she is looking for, and immediately she feels guilty for the sinking feeling in her chest. It had been foolish on her part to think that she would find a replacement for what she had lost—or never really had.
It is a beautiful place, but it is not like Stratos.
She pushes aside her own sorrow (reminding herself that it is not even her sorrow to feel—Stratos was not her home, even if it was half her blood) and ventures further into the land, taking in the unique beauty of it and letting herself see it for what it is. The rolling hills of green washed in towering purple flowers; the long limbs of the willows that sway in a gentle breeze, and the golden sun that sinks just on the horizon.
And in the corner of her eye she sees him, and her heart seems to catch in her chest.
Angel, is what immediately comes to mind, although he is nothing like any other angel she has seen. Bright white, but with ice-blue cracks across his body, and a halo of ice above his head, he is both haunting and beautiful and she realizes then that she is staring at him. Immediately she darts her gaze elsewhere, trying to ignore the flustered heat that rises in her cheeks. In all her travels here it seemed to be Baltians that she stumbled across, and now, faced with someone that reminded her of Stratos, she finds herself stricken and tongue-tied, and she had not realized she had walked closer to him until he is close enough that she can see the glacial blue of his eyes and the worry that had seemed to etch itself like cracks across his face.
“I’ve never seen an angel like you before,” she breathes, and though the wonder she feels is lost in the pitch-black of her eyes it finds its way into her soft-spoken words, even when she is nearly frozen by her own shyness.