"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
and let me crawl inside your veins. I'll build a wall, give you a ball and chain.
She has never been very good at fitting inside of borders, makeshift or real. For as long as she could remember she has been a drifter, never bound by love or kingdom loyalties or family; never staying in one place long enough to grow attached. She trusted nothing and no one — her mother had made sure to instill that deeply rooted suspicion and doubt into her, though on accident, she is sure. The jade-eyed, lily-white mare had done little to raise her, treating her as an afterthought, and Starsin had learned at an early age that no one actually wanted to stay. That everyone would leave, eventually.
She learned it was easier if she just left first.
Loess is the closest she has come to finding a home, though it was temporary, she says. She will lose interest soon enough, as she does most things. Her fickle-minded ways were not something she kept a secret, but the kingdom was proving interesting enough, for now, at least. Enough that she has stayed there longer than she ever has anywhere else, but it didn’t completely eradicate the uncomfortable knot that settled deep in her gut.
It is early morning when she reaches the meadow, having awoken before dawn touched the sky. Unable to shake the restlessness from her bones this time, she had come here. The grass was tall, having been flourishing beneath the warmth of the spring sun and the refreshing rains. A sliver of light could be seen on the horizon, though most of the land was still blanketed in a cool, gray veil. The constellations that decorated her sides glowed in the dim light, rippling with the glide of her walk. She has finally grown into all her curves and angles, the lines of her face sharper as she began to shed from youth into a young adult. Still only three years old, but with a body and mind already almost perfected into a weapon. Practice truly did make perfect, she was learning.
She watches them, all of them in the distance, with her cobalt-blue eyes and something almost like a smile settled on her steel gray lips. Silent and patient, waiting to see what today will bring her.
starsin
it’s not like me to be so mean. you’re all I wanted. ( just let me hold you Like a hostage. )
and I can't get to sleep with that wolf outside my door
She doesn’t remember much of her birthing, or the first few days of her life.
They are stuttered memories with darkness and the sweet memory of a mother with blue and black and kind eyes—a mother she had loved but who had disappeared when she had wandered too far. It leaves her alone, although she never truly feels such a thing, her leathery wings wrapped tight around her barrel, her haloed head lifted upward as she began to traverse the land she would one day recognize as home.
Perhaps one day she would recognize the tragedy of wandering too far away from her mother. Perhaps one day she would recognize the tragedy of being an orphan without a home, but for now such things do not have roots and she does not feel them in the depths of her soul. Instead she feels a burning curiosity and a hunger that is both very real and very imagined, a need to learn and know more the longer she goes.
It makes her brazen, even more so than she normally would be, and she wanders through the crowds that surround her until she sees the woman of black with the heavens painted on her sides. She pauses, watching her with gold eyes, before she makes her way toward her, her small body moving between the others with ease. When she is near, she angles her draconic head up, sharp teeth glittering into a smile.
“Hello,” she offers, her voice neither kind nor childish nor particularly cruel. Instead there is a hint of a maturity forced onto her too young, something mirrored in the angles of her face, something of her having skipped over the usual roundness of childhood. “My name is Alita,” she says the name she has whispered to herself, offering it up as she looks at this fierce-eyed woman, wondering at what lies beneath.
and let me crawl inside your veins. I'll build a wall, give you a ball and chain.
Their childhoods could have almost been mirror images, but Starsin rarely looked back on hers. She remembers her mother, alabaster and jade-eyed, careless and seemingly ignorant to the star-studded filly that fought to keep up with her quick pace. She had lost her mother more times than she could remember, and at first, she didn’t seem to notice how she was never particularly happy about being found, nor did she ever seem concerned at her young daughter having been gone. The cold ache that settled like a rock in her chest when she finally realized Starlust was doing it on purpose was something she would never forget. That was the moment something in her had changed, when something had clicked out of place and was lost forever.
She could have spent her entire life trying to fill that hole, but instead she built a wall around it. There were days that Ophanim almost breached it; when she let her guard down in their quiet moments, when she let his loyal and loving thoughts fill her head and she almost dared to see what would happen if she just gave into him.
She always thought better of it, for her distrust was larger than her need for love.
When her dark blue eyes land on the golden dragon-girl with the halo floating above her head, she remembers why she never let herself trust anyone.
Perhaps someone weaker than herself would have faltered, would have let the emotion show on their face. She sees the gilded markings, the halo, and something all too familiar in those golden eyes — not the right color, but still, they are what cement her suspicions. If her heart drops through the earth, she doesn’t show it. She is stoic, with a look that could almost be mistaken for boredom so carefully positioned on her poised face, as she answers without really looking at the little girl, “Not all strangers are friendly, little Alita.” The tone of her voice is flat, absent of the honeyed lilt it usually possessed. It would be so easy to grab the nearly newborn by the neck and drag her back to Ophanim, just so she could see the look on his face as he tried to explain himself, but that sounded a lot like hard work, and Starsin wasn’t keen on breaking a sweat today.
Work smarter, not harder.
And so she lets a smile edge across her lips, angling her head to better look at her. She was a pretty little thing, and she is sure she would like her more if she didn’t exist because Ophanim apparently had no self-control, or he was just an incredibly good liar, or both. “Good thing it’s me you found. I’m Starsin.” Her voice is softer now, dulling the sharpness that she felt, even though she was inwardly still boiling. She glances around, letting her gaze linger across a few of the faces that drifted nearby. “Where’s your mom?” She felt like she knew the kind Ophanim would go for — someone doe-eyed and sweet, someone completely opposite of her. Her simmering stare settled on every female face nearby, as she struggles to ignore the ever mounting heat of betrayal that continued to rise.
starsin
it’s not like me to be so mean. you’re all I wanted. ( just let me hold you Like a hostage. )
and I can't get to sleep with that wolf outside my door
Alita finds that she likes the way that Starsin rages like the sea, even though the surface of her remains calm. There is something that hints to turbulence beneath the surface—something she cannot explain or name or even comprehend. It is a depth beyond the cool exterior, a hint of more. But she has no ability to truly decipher it and so she sets it to the side, content to merely pass the time with the grey mare.
“I am not afraid of strangers,” she replies, blunt, her lips pulling apart into a wide smile that showcases the glittering edges of teeth behind. Even at a young age, even with so little experience, she knows that she is not someone to be crossed. She can feel the heat build in the back of her throat, she has felt what it means to pull apart flesh from bone, and she knows that there is little in most places for her to fear.
Still, there is something to the lull of Starsin’s words. Something about the way that her voice drops, softens, the way that she looks into her eyes. All of it is enough to earn the young girl’s trust, and she just tips her chin upward. “It is a good thing,” because it feels like the right thing to say. It feels like the kind of thing that she should confirm—especially when she sees herself reflected in the other’s eyes.
So she does.
She gladly does and just continues to stand quietly, childish wings curled around her barrel. Her head tilts at the question, confused for a moment. “My mom?” She cranes her head back behind her, brow furrowing and lip curving downward in thought. “I have no idea.” Alita rolls her shoulder briefly, shrugging off the momentary concern. “I am sure that she is out there, somewhere.”
and let me crawl inside your veins. I'll build a wall, give you a ball and chain.
It is difficult, but she smothers her fury. The young girl before her is a physical reminder that she had been played for a fool; perhaps not on purpose, because she had thoroughly read Ophanim’s mind a million and one times, and he had never given any indicator of being manipulative. But as she stood here, staring at the golden-eyed manifestation of what she could only call betrayal, she found herself thinking back on every single mildly suspicious thought he had ever had. When he had been worrying over mistakes, but she had never been able to figure out what he meant by that. They didn’t have faces or names, and now she realizes they should have. She should have pried harder, shouldn’t have allowed herself to be hypnotized by his quiet touches and adoring thoughts. She looked so stupid, and it infuriates her, and it’s all she can do to swallow it down.
It is difficult – but she manages.
“I suppose you wouldn’t have much to fear, would you.” It is not spoken as a question, but a statement, in response to the flash of sharp teeth. Starsin was still infinitely foolish in many ways. She hadn’t learned to fear the physical capabilities of others, and Alita is no different. She did, however, have a healthy respect for it, and she knew a useful tool when she saw one. She watched her, much in the same way she had first looked at Vulgaris, or Litotes, and even Castile.
But even more so than her usual games and manipulation, there was also an incredibly selfish part of her that wanted to keep this part of Ophanim that he had given away so freely, so carelessly. As if she somehow thought that bringing her back to Loess would ease the sting. “You can come with me to Loess, if you want.” Her words are still soft, and here she reaches to just lightly brush her lips atop the girl’s golden head. She pauses for a moment, before offering her in a voice so delicate that it betrays the weight that the words carry, “Your father lives there. I’m sure he’d love to meet you.”
starsin
it’s not like me to be so mean. you’re all I wanted. ( just let me hold you Like a hostage. )
and I can't get to sleep with that wolf outside my door
Alita has no idea of the gifts that she possesses.
She does not know that dragon fire rests in her lungs, that one day she could breathe out forest fires and wreck devastation. She does not know that these leathery wings at her side will grow large and wide and carry her further and faster than she could ever imagine. She does not know of the potential for war that just now begins to blossom in her; this infinite capability for devastation and bloodshed.
All she knows is that she is alone and this grey woman is beginning to feel like family.
“I have never feared,” she says simply, proudly. She has never needed to be prey—even with the only seeds of the gifts to come. She has never known what it is like to look into death and not see her own reflection staring back at her. Just as she now knows that she is staring into her mother’s eyes.
So she accepts the brush of lips against her forehead, leans into it slightly as she claims this woman as her own. “I would like that,” she says with a sharp smile, her lips spreading as she tips her chin back to look up at the woman standing over her. But the simply joy flickers and then fades into confusion at the next.
Alita tilts her head slightly to the side, considering.
“My father?”
She’s never given much thought to who her father could be. Never considered the stories that may be behind him, or his name, or what about him makes him her. Would they look the same? Does he have these wings or these sharp teeth? “That doesn’t matter to me,” she says with a shrug, brightening again as she studies Starsin. “As long as you’re there, I would like to go.”
