02-26-2021, 02:29 AM
You think I'll be the Dark Sky so you can be the Star?
I'll Swallow you Whole.
I'll Swallow you Whole.
She had never imagined herself as a mother. The very idea had made her uneasy at first, afraid that she wouldn't know how to actually raise a child. There were so many instincts that she simply didn’t have, things that she did not understand. Though she had been raised by a mother that clearly loved and adored her, Islas had never really reciprocated Ryatah’s affections. None of it—the emotions, the need for touch and reassurance—came natural to her.
The idea that Tiercel would be here had been the only thing that made this not seem impossible.
Knowing that she would not be alone, knowing someone that knew her, and her weaknesses and pitfalls, to keep her from ruining it all.
When everything had settled, when the realization that Tiercel was gone and she was doing this on her own hit her for the hundredth time, it felt like every ounce of darkness came crashing directly on top of her.
Grief was not an emotion she has ever felt, and until now she is not sure if she knew it existed. She wanted to stand and stare at the lake where the vortex had been. She wanted to search every inch of this land the way he had looked for her stars. She wanted to no longer feel this ache-like anger and despair that swelled inside of her chest when Kamaria was asleep and she would stare at her and think this wasn’t the way it was supposed to be.
She hasn't even let herself wonder if their daughter inherited anything from starlight. She wasn't sure if they would ever see starlight again, and with Tiercel gone, she isn't entirely sure if she cares if it comes back.
Her attention is only partially on Kamaria right now, most of her energy focused on their surroundings. Every strange shift of the wind, every rustle of brush, had set her on edge. Being away from the cave made her uneasy, but she knew she could not keep Kamaria locked away there, as badly as she wanted to. When she had been a child she had not understood why Ryatah insisted on Islas and Cavern staying close; she especially had not understood it as a newly-born star. But seeing Kamaria and the way she looks so small against the infinite darkness as if it could swallow her whole if she drifted away too far, Islas thinks she understands.
Her purple-black eyes turn to her daughter at her question, the smallest of smiles edging across her lips. “No,” she says with a quiet, almost imperceptible laugh, realizing that she has failed at telling her what life had been like not that long ago. She is again reminded of something Tiercel would have probably handled; that he would have told her stories of the sun, had asked Islas to tell her stories of the stars.
On her own though, Islas had been too focused on everything else—on simply surviving.
“There used to be the sun, and it lit up everything. You could see every rock and tree for miles.” Islas had never much cared for daytime, and it was strange to describe it and find that she almost missed it. “And every night the sun would disappear, and it would be dark, almost like this.” There is a pause, and she does not let her eyes lift toward the sky the way they longed to do. She looks only at Kamaria’s young face, finds the parts that remind her of Tiercel because she can’t help but to place a finger directly onto that wound, and says, “but it was full of stars. They look like a million pinpricks of light from down here, but….” she trails off, and doesn’t finish the thought. Instead, she reaches over, and gently brushes her nose across Kamaria’s forehead. “You’ll get to see them someday.”
The idea that Tiercel would be here had been the only thing that made this not seem impossible.
Knowing that she would not be alone, knowing someone that knew her, and her weaknesses and pitfalls, to keep her from ruining it all.
When everything had settled, when the realization that Tiercel was gone and she was doing this on her own hit her for the hundredth time, it felt like every ounce of darkness came crashing directly on top of her.
Grief was not an emotion she has ever felt, and until now she is not sure if she knew it existed. She wanted to stand and stare at the lake where the vortex had been. She wanted to search every inch of this land the way he had looked for her stars. She wanted to no longer feel this ache-like anger and despair that swelled inside of her chest when Kamaria was asleep and she would stare at her and think this wasn’t the way it was supposed to be.
She hasn't even let herself wonder if their daughter inherited anything from starlight. She wasn't sure if they would ever see starlight again, and with Tiercel gone, she isn't entirely sure if she cares if it comes back.
Her attention is only partially on Kamaria right now, most of her energy focused on their surroundings. Every strange shift of the wind, every rustle of brush, had set her on edge. Being away from the cave made her uneasy, but she knew she could not keep Kamaria locked away there, as badly as she wanted to. When she had been a child she had not understood why Ryatah insisted on Islas and Cavern staying close; she especially had not understood it as a newly-born star. But seeing Kamaria and the way she looks so small against the infinite darkness as if it could swallow her whole if she drifted away too far, Islas thinks she understands.
Her purple-black eyes turn to her daughter at her question, the smallest of smiles edging across her lips. “No,” she says with a quiet, almost imperceptible laugh, realizing that she has failed at telling her what life had been like not that long ago. She is again reminded of something Tiercel would have probably handled; that he would have told her stories of the sun, had asked Islas to tell her stories of the stars.
On her own though, Islas had been too focused on everything else—on simply surviving.
“There used to be the sun, and it lit up everything. You could see every rock and tree for miles.” Islas had never much cared for daytime, and it was strange to describe it and find that she almost missed it. “And every night the sun would disappear, and it would be dark, almost like this.” There is a pause, and she does not let her eyes lift toward the sky the way they longed to do. She looks only at Kamaria’s young face, finds the parts that remind her of Tiercel because she can’t help but to place a finger directly onto that wound, and says, “but it was full of stars. They look like a million pinpricks of light from down here, but….” she trails off, and doesn’t finish the thought. Instead, she reaches over, and gently brushes her nose across Kamaria’s forehead. “You’ll get to see them someday.”
Islas
@[Kamaria]