09-21-2020, 09:40 PM
snag the sky, make it bleed starlight
She didn't know she had an audience or she might not have done it at all, might have left those broken, scattered bones where they lay, half-buried in the sand. It seems so silly, now, when his voice startles her from that starlight path, from that crack in the sky, and she turns suddenly to find him just off to her side, as if he had come from nowhere at all.
A ghost? But ghost whispering has never been her talent. No, Shipka has only the light of the stars, nobody comes to her with mournful whispers of the afterlife. For half a breath, she only stares at him, mute with her embarrassment, until the meaning of his words slowly creeps back to the forefront of her dull mind.
What does she make of what? Oh--
Not the starchild, no, but that gash across the sky where no stars sing, yet light pulses sickeningly.
"I..." she turns from him to the tear again and her grey full-moon eyes narrow just so, the delicate skin around them crinkling faintly. The thing makes her dizzy to look at, "I'm not sure. It isn't stars, I could feel it if it was stars."
And she knows that it shouldn't be there, but it feels like something she doesn't need to say.
"Anyway, I've only come from the Meadow, not so far that the stars should change." And she pauses for a moment to consider the strange smell of his pale gold skin, a scent foreign and strange, less like the grass-spice of Aloy's wandering and somehow more like the cool timbre of Islas' voice. It's not a scent at all, but she breathes it deep just the same through wide nostrils.
How far have you come? She wonders.
"Have you ever seen anything like it?
'
A ghost? But ghost whispering has never been her talent. No, Shipka has only the light of the stars, nobody comes to her with mournful whispers of the afterlife. For half a breath, she only stares at him, mute with her embarrassment, until the meaning of his words slowly creeps back to the forefront of her dull mind.
What does she make of what? Oh--
Not the starchild, no, but that gash across the sky where no stars sing, yet light pulses sickeningly.
"I..." she turns from him to the tear again and her grey full-moon eyes narrow just so, the delicate skin around them crinkling faintly. The thing makes her dizzy to look at, "I'm not sure. It isn't stars, I could feel it if it was stars."
And she knows that it shouldn't be there, but it feels like something she doesn't need to say.
"Anyway, I've only come from the Meadow, not so far that the stars should change." And she pauses for a moment to consider the strange smell of his pale gold skin, a scent foreign and strange, less like the grass-spice of Aloy's wandering and somehow more like the cool timbre of Islas' voice. It's not a scent at all, but she breathes it deep just the same through wide nostrils.
How far have you come? She wonders.
"Have you ever seen anything like it?
'
@[Ten]