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+---- Thread: [private] you were my coming down, sickle (/showthread.php?tid=31283)
you were my coming down, sickle - asterope - 05-06-2023
asterope—
She has lived in abject terror, lurking just below the surface of the water, watching as the wildlife has fled from horrors she cannot see. Beyond the edge of the forest, there has been upheaval, chaos, some worlds crushed while others are reborn.
The dark magician had come once, he had dragged her from the depths, he had walked her out into the light. (She had stumbled and staggered, as she was a creature of the water and her legs had become largely useless in the years she had spent confined to that pond at the heart of the forest.) The magician had not spoken, simply walked alongside her in silence, the two tethered together by magic (the only thing capable of keeping her alive away from the water that had become her singular lifeforce).
He had wanted to show her the wreckage. It had been a moment of both softness and absolute ruin. He had turned to look at her as her heart had seized, her breath catching. She had been only days old when he had taken her from her mother, the sisters, condemned her to that water. She’d had no way of knowing if Beqanna had always been fraught with this specific kind of devastation, but there had been something in the way he’d looked out at the chaos (it had been delight, she realizes now) that had told her this was new.
And then, equally as silent, he had turned back and led her back to the water. And for the first time in her life, she had been glad to be back there beneath the surface. It was safe there, if not so unbearably lonely. She was grateful too, though, grateful that he had thought to show her the ruin because it had worked to soothe her aching heart. Perhaps this was why she had not seen Sickle in such a terribly long time.
She spends her days now worried that her friend has been hurt in some way. She languishes there at the pond’s edge, just enough of her left in the water to keep her heart beating, and stares into the trees, silently willing her friend to appear.
The dark magician had come once, he had dragged her from the depths, he had walked her out into the light. (She had stumbled and staggered, as she was a creature of the water and her legs had become largely useless in the years she had spent confined to that pond at the heart of the forest.) The magician had not spoken, simply walked alongside her in silence, the two tethered together by magic (the only thing capable of keeping her alive away from the water that had become her singular lifeforce).
He had wanted to show her the wreckage. It had been a moment of both softness and absolute ruin. He had turned to look at her as her heart had seized, her breath catching. She had been only days old when he had taken her from her mother, the sisters, condemned her to that water. She’d had no way of knowing if Beqanna had always been fraught with this specific kind of devastation, but there had been something in the way he’d looked out at the chaos (it had been delight, she realizes now) that had told her this was new.
And then, equally as silent, he had turned back and led her back to the water. And for the first time in her life, she had been glad to be back there beneath the surface. It was safe there, if not so unbearably lonely. She was grateful too, though, grateful that he had thought to show her the ruin because it had worked to soothe her aching heart. Perhaps this was why she had not seen Sickle in such a terribly long time.
She spends her days now worried that her friend has been hurt in some way. She languishes there at the pond’s edge, just enough of her left in the water to keep her heart beating, and stares into the trees, silently willing her friend to appear.
—what was it like to feel in love?
@Sickle
RE: you were my coming down, sickle - Sickle - 05-15-2023
Sickle had not forgotten about Asterope, but she had tried to. She had swam in the wide ocean created from Beqanna’s turmoil, she had lingered in Baltia for a time and then swam far it and into the fathomless depths beyond - she had swam until she could not push herself any further. And then, once she had rested, she had gone further. Until she no longer met anyone who had heard of the continent where she was born. Until she only saw strange, unfamiliar creatures and then became one of them. Losing herself to the anonymity of the dark seas.
Becoming the monster that lurked there did not mend her, but it served as the distraction she needed. It gave her time to grow in strength and discover she was capable of fury. It allowed her to believe enough time had passed so she could return to land, where she could stamp out any last remaining memories of the foolish filly she had once been - and how long it had taken her to grow up.
She had been glad to discover so much of the world had changed, as though it was just that easy to erase the past. Just a few earthquakes and natural disasters and all the homes she had once known were mere whispers instead of looming entities.
All except for one.
Sickle does not remember making the conscious decision to see if Asterope is still in that same pond until she starts to recognize the path she is taking through the forest. When she hesitates, when uncertainty flares up inside of her, she shakes it off and forces herself to continue.
She will not fear the past or its ghosts. And she certainly will not fear what those ghosts will think of her now.
She is not the same as she was the last time she was here. She refuses to be the same.
But it is easier to push memories aside when you are leagues away from them. They return now - and she thinks about how she had brought flowers on so many past occasions. It does not occur to her to bring some this time until she is nearing the edge of the woods and sees Asterope there, lounging on the edge of the pond and partially out of the water. Sickle can feel the love she has for this mare. She can feel who she had once been stir with a queasy combination of relief, sadness, joy, and guilt at the sight of who had once been her most beloved friend.
“Hello, Asterope.” Sickle says quietly, stopping before her entire body has even emerged from the treeline. There’s conflict in her voice and expression - it’s the first time she’s seen someone she knows since she’s returned, and she has no idea what instincts to follow.
Becoming the monster that lurked there did not mend her, but it served as the distraction she needed. It gave her time to grow in strength and discover she was capable of fury. It allowed her to believe enough time had passed so she could return to land, where she could stamp out any last remaining memories of the foolish filly she had once been - and how long it had taken her to grow up.
She had been glad to discover so much of the world had changed, as though it was just that easy to erase the past. Just a few earthquakes and natural disasters and all the homes she had once known were mere whispers instead of looming entities.
All except for one.
Sickle does not remember making the conscious decision to see if Asterope is still in that same pond until she starts to recognize the path she is taking through the forest. When she hesitates, when uncertainty flares up inside of her, she shakes it off and forces herself to continue.
She will not fear the past or its ghosts. And she certainly will not fear what those ghosts will think of her now.
She is not the same as she was the last time she was here. She refuses to be the same.
But it is easier to push memories aside when you are leagues away from them. They return now - and she thinks about how she had brought flowers on so many past occasions. It does not occur to her to bring some this time until she is nearing the edge of the woods and sees Asterope there, lounging on the edge of the pond and partially out of the water. Sickle can feel the love she has for this mare. She can feel who she had once been stir with a queasy combination of relief, sadness, joy, and guilt at the sight of who had once been her most beloved friend.
“Hello, Asterope.” Sickle says quietly, stopping before her entire body has even emerged from the treeline. There’s conflict in her voice and expression - it’s the first time she’s seen someone she knows since she’s returned, and she has no idea what instincts to follow.
@asterope
RE: you were my coming down, sickle - asterope - 06-23-2024
asterope—
“Sickle!”
In some softer world, Asterope would have scrambled out of the water, flung herself into the shadows, curled herself around her friend and been content to cling to her.
Alas, there is nothing soft here.
And so she remains in the water, straining, heart pounding.
(There had been something different in the voice, something unfamiliar, but she would have recognized it anywhere. For how often had she heard it in her dreams? When she’d descended to the bottom of that murky water and let her mind carry her off to someplace sweeter, a place where Sickle had not been gone so long and they had swam together there and Asterope had stared up at the flowers her friend had brought for so long that their shape started to change.)
She gasps for breath, thinking for one brief moment that perhaps this is some cruel joke spun by the dark magician. Why else would Sickle not have shown herself?
She falters, sinks by a fraction and tilts her head, staring toward the source of the sound.
“Sickle?” Uncertain this time, wary.
“Is it really you?”
In some softer world, Asterope would have scrambled out of the water, flung herself into the shadows, curled herself around her friend and been content to cling to her.
Alas, there is nothing soft here.
And so she remains in the water, straining, heart pounding.
(There had been something different in the voice, something unfamiliar, but she would have recognized it anywhere. For how often had she heard it in her dreams? When she’d descended to the bottom of that murky water and let her mind carry her off to someplace sweeter, a place where Sickle had not been gone so long and they had swam together there and Asterope had stared up at the flowers her friend had brought for so long that their shape started to change.)
She gasps for breath, thinking for one brief moment that perhaps this is some cruel joke spun by the dark magician. Why else would Sickle not have shown herself?
She falters, sinks by a fraction and tilts her head, staring toward the source of the sound.
“Sickle?” Uncertain this time, wary.
“Is it really you?”
—what was it like to feel in love?
@Sickle