You don't fight the darkness. One day, years from now, Astana will find herself in a moment of toil and sadness. As a tear rolls down her cheek, dropping down from eyes made of diamonds, these words, his words, they will come to her. And she will smile because his words are wise, yes, but the fact that came from him, from his lips, with his voice, well, that will mean everything to Astana. She knows the words he speaks are true, his heart breaking, beautiful words, but true they are all the same.
But, for now, Astana is content with being herself, carrying a light inside her, bright and radiant as so many children are. There is time for sorrow, anger, jealousy, all of it, time for it much later, but not here and now. For now, Astana is lost within the dream world they have created together. Something beautiful, magical, entirely their own. “It reminds me of the stars,” she says to his words, though she hardly feels she needs to explain it. Aegean would understand what she means, he had to. Already her expectations of the stallion were so high, he was beautiful, perfect. Everything a dream should be, ought to be.
As a wind rolls through, the sand tags along, climbing aboard and is spread throughout the imaginary dunes. Astana is taken back to the windstorms that could sometimes last an entire day. She and her family would camp out in the Oasis, shielding themselves from the sand storm. The entire day would be spent telling stories, laughing, and playing games the twins would make up, their parents happy enough to go along with it. The sand does not sting, but she can feel the hot sun reaching to her skin and soaking into her bones. “You gave this to me,” she says, shaking her head in awe at what together they had created. “How can I thank you?” She asks him in a soprano voice as fragile as sea stars, as twinkling as starlight.
“You could come with me—sometime,” she offers him, a wish, far fetched perhaps, but it is offered none the less. “I could show you—everything.” It is a childish idea, but then again, Astana was no more than a child, it was to be expected, no matter how foolish an idea it was.
She feels safe beside him as diamond eyes begin to grow heavy, eager for the promise of sleep. Beside him though, it was more than safety, Astana could not quite place it. Her head jumps upwards each time it falls, eyes opening suddenly, so fearful was she that she would awaken to discover he did not exist, had not existed at all. What a tragedy it would be, something her heart did not wish. He kisses her forehead and it is only then that her eyelids fall shut. “Promise me,” she says because she is young and thinks promises can never be broken. Ever. Even if promises are some of the most fragile things to have ever lived, so utterly breakable. “I will find you again, Aegean,” she says when sleep is surrounding her like a blanket of warmth. She would look first to her dreams, and then to the world if she had to.
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