that day even the sun was afraid of you and the weight you carried
One day, perhaps, Firiona would be better at hiding the things that live under the surface. Perhaps he would be able to tuck away the demons until they do not shine out from his impossibly bright eyes. Perhaps he could truly slip into this facade—pretend that he’s just the arrogant, young son of the panther and the angel. The boy of old blood, of old royalty, raised to be wild and free and untethered.
But that is not today.
Today, his eyes still darken and he still shifts as though trying to adjust the weight on his shoulders.
It is worse because he knows his own weaknesses. He knows that anyone would be able to look through his own shield. Knows that anyone would be able to see the truth of his own devastation beneath it.
“Thanks,” his voice is sharper than intended and he almost regrets how he has snapped at her. There’s something like an apology that runs like a wave across his features before it smooths out again. “I like the brown though,” he says simply. What she says next though surprises a laugh out of him and, for the first time, it is a genuine emotion that he shows her. It comes from his chest and his smile tilts upward.
“No, I suppose you can’t complain,” he muses, and although the laughter dies quickly, the remnants of it remain in the shadows of his eyes. “I’ve always wanted to see Tephra.” It wasn’t exactly true but he wasn’t exactly being honest with her about everything else, so the white lie didn’t bother him much. His father always spoke poorly of it. Firion knew better than to pry and thus dismissed the land entirely.
Still, he is interested in seeing it now.
“I was born in Hyaline.” Another shrug. There was nothing entirely special about the lake to him.
“I prefer seeing the rest of Beqanna too.”
Another white lie, but who was counting?
so you saluted every ghost you've ever prayed to and then buried it where bones are buried
