there's a song in your lung
and a dream in your eye
It is a mystery she has never been able to solve, a question always upon her lips but one she is unable to ask. Why had he let her live? What had inspired him to piece her shattered boy back together and breathe life back into her? It is something she had resigned herself to never receiving the answer to since she has little desire to confront Him about it. In fact, she has little desire to ever see him again. If meeting Perse had been a trial to her fragile patchwork of emotions, she can only imagine what seeing the one who had done this to her would do.
You must be special. The words slip softly into the air but ring loudly in her ears. She tips her head slightly, curiosity suffusing her features. It sounded very close to a compliment, yet another surprise in a conversation riddled with the unexpected.
Perhaps I am.
Or perhaps it is merely because she is his descendant. Or perhaps it is a million things or nothing at all. Perhaps it was a whim.
And then the silver mare’s muzzle comes to rest upon her skin, a warm, anticipated touch. She stills, muscles locking as her breath fans her shoulder. She wonders what she thinks of her scarred flesh, whether the many cracks carving grooves into her skin bother her, whether the feel of the slight ridges catching skin would disturb her. But she does not ask. She is not sure she would like the answer.
joscelin