you see your faith inside a ditch; brigade

[irisa]

and the walls kept tumbling down
in this city that we love

She’s dreamt of him, too. Normal dreams, not the kind like her mother had. Fleeting and insubstantial, and maybe for a moment or two there she’d wished she’d inherited her mother’s power, so that she might have prolonged the experience, enriched it.
(It was a brief and terrifying wish – a glimpse, perhaps, into how her mother became what she was. A horrifying sense of understanding.)
And she’s thought of him, in waking hours, replaying their conversations. The feel of his wing beneath hers, the sharpness of his gaze. Those thoughts make her feel strange, like she’s been set adrift in the sea, lost and thrilled both.

She smiles when he says her name, almost bashful, glances at the shells in his mane. Those are new, and curious, but and she wonders what they would be like under her touch. They look smooth, cool to the touch, or perhaps they’d be warm from the proximity to his skin.
Anyway --
“How have you been?” she asks, and immediately cringes at the banality of her question. She inhales, once, as if she could breathe in bravery, and speaks again.
“I’m sorry, by the way. For leaving how I did.”
Abrupt and choked on emotions she did not name, she means. A coward, she means.

Irisa

tarnished x heartworm

@[brigade]

sorry to make you wait 100 years for this garbage but my life is insane!!