maybe she's just running

[Oriash]

Oriash

they promised that dreams can come true

That’s what it feels like, more often than not - survival, rather than life. She survived her childhood. She survived her quiet days. When she didn’t run, she painted the world, created escape after escape. Exploring now at least feels like living, feels like something more than complacency. In the end, she still doesn’t really know where she belongs. Loess is home, but it doesn’t feel like home any more than anywhere else does. Not outside of the familiarity she has with it from so many years spent within its borders.

Maybe in lacking a purpose she lacks any semblance of life. Ori just drifts from one place to the next, from one world to another. She exists outside of reality, outside of time it feels like, outside of the realm of others. Sometimes she feels invisible, like she doesn’t matter and never will. There must be a way to change that, but she didn’t know how.

It would be easier to blame the way she is on her mothers, to say that their abandonment changed her, set her up for failure, but she cannot bring herself to place the blame on them. It is her own fault and no one else’s.

A large sunflower blooms above her head, the largest she has managed to create. It’s yellow petals spread like the sun above her, stretching long fingers toward the bright sky. She is rather proud of the flower that blooms before her, wonder if this is what it feels like to be a mouse, when a voice cuts into her thoughts.

A boy approaches, a few years younger than her she thinks, made of dark blue and white. Not entirely unlike herself, she thinks, though Ori has brown thrown in there as well, plus the antlers on her head and the wings on her back. Coloring that she longs to be proud of and yet is proud of all at once. She is her mother’s daughter, but she wants to be more than just the daughter of Kagerus. No one ever sees Solace, and no one ever sees her. They see only Kag.

“Ori,” she offers with a soft smile, skipping the hello. Politeness isn’t something she lacks, but words often are. There are times when she finds them, when entire paragraphs come tumbling from her mouth, but more often than not she lives with as few words as possible. Why speak when she can paint, why try to do justice to something when she can just create it? More flowers spring up around his feet, white and yellow and pink covering the grass around him. The flower spread around them, filling up the meadow in the area, the sweet scent of them cloying and intoxicating. For added effect, she adds a couple of bees that buzz from one stamen to the next.

“Is there anything else you like?” she asks, willing to add it to the scenery around them. She may not be able to hold the illusion for much longer, but she’ll hold for a little while, will let him enjoy a world of his favorite things for a period. This is her brand of kindness, and it is also her brand of cruelty. She can give and she can take so very easily.

but they forgot that nightmares are dreams too.

@[Erio] oh look, i write posts sometimes..