12-07-2020, 08:43 PM
You think I'll be the Dark Sky so you can be the Star?
I'll Swallow you Whole.
I'll Swallow you Whole.
The stars were the same here as they had been in Pangea, and she is not sure if she had expected anything different. When she had been younger she had been convinced that if she could only get closer to the sky, that perhaps it would lead her home. She had seen the mountains that stretched up into the haze of the clouds, so far that you couldn’t see the top of it from the ground – and unaccustomed to these new mortal limits, she had thought maybe it ended at the stars.
She knew better now, though.
It took a different kind of magic, a kind that she did not possess, to go back to the stars. And even still, she has yet to find what she needs to to truly return home.
She does not toy with the starlight as she usually does. Tonight she only watches, with an unreadable expression on her face. Her own glow pulsates gently, mimicking the way the stars above flicker against the neverending velvet expanse. She hears the thunder of his wings and she turns her head just as he touches down, and the barest of smiles touches the edge of her pale lips. “Morrowind,” she remembers the stallion made of storms, how he could cultivate the power of one despite no longer possessing the magic he had once had.
She shakes her head at his statement. “No,” she answers him, and though there is no sorrow to be heard in the almost unsettling flatness of her tone, there is a distant, faint ache in the center of her chest. “Still stuck spinning starlight from the ground,” and with a glance above she pulls down three threads of light, twirling them until they combine into a single ball of light that hovers in the air between them. And then with a sigh she breaks it apart, letting it fall in a shower of stardust that fades as it reaches the ground.
“And your thunder is still trapped,” she tells him plainly once her dark gaze finds his face again, unable to fully conjure the sympathy she is sure she should feel.
She knew better now, though.
It took a different kind of magic, a kind that she did not possess, to go back to the stars. And even still, she has yet to find what she needs to to truly return home.
She does not toy with the starlight as she usually does. Tonight she only watches, with an unreadable expression on her face. Her own glow pulsates gently, mimicking the way the stars above flicker against the neverending velvet expanse. She hears the thunder of his wings and she turns her head just as he touches down, and the barest of smiles touches the edge of her pale lips. “Morrowind,” she remembers the stallion made of storms, how he could cultivate the power of one despite no longer possessing the magic he had once had.
She shakes her head at his statement. “No,” she answers him, and though there is no sorrow to be heard in the almost unsettling flatness of her tone, there is a distant, faint ache in the center of her chest. “Still stuck spinning starlight from the ground,” and with a glance above she pulls down three threads of light, twirling them until they combine into a single ball of light that hovers in the air between them. And then with a sigh she breaks it apart, letting it fall in a shower of stardust that fades as it reaches the ground.
“And your thunder is still trapped,” she tells him plainly once her dark gaze finds his face again, unable to fully conjure the sympathy she is sure she should feel.
Islas
