how do I learn my dreams to mold, to lay them bare in the morning cold?
The world is ringing in his ears, pulling back the curtain of reality second by second.
It’s almost painful to take in the light after so long in the darkness. Painful to try and discern what is happening in this quiet, peaceful place when they had just be thrust here from chaos itself. There is no wound on him and he feels no pain. He feels…nothing, actually. He takes a hesitant step forward and find that his leg does not protest. It does not try and crumple or ache or groan beneath the weight of him.
It is a leg remade—or, rather, a leg that had never shattered in the first place.
He whirls around on his healed legs, joy spreading across his face like rays of sunshine, but before he can say anything at all, his breath catches. Because she’s there, the girl he had always known. She is soft and warm and impossibly beautiful—as beautiful as she was in her form of leaf and wood, but different. His eyes widen and his mouth opens on a sharp inhale, his heart suddenly pounding feverishly in his chest.
“Linnea,” he finally manages, her name like a breath as he takes a step toward her, nearly dizzy with the impossibility of the moment. Somewhere beyond him, he has some knowledge that this is a stolen moment. Something like a faint buzzing—a pressing knowledge between his shoulder blades that he could only hold onto this reality for a while—but he ignores it. Ignores whatever strange magic happened.
Instead he walks, limp-free, toward her, laughing suddenly as the joy escapes him in the throaty sound. He grabs her and kisses her, pressing his head into the sweet curve of her neck. “I don’t know what happened or why,” he says under his breath, “but I would take every stolen moment with you here.”
No matter the consequences, goes unsaid.
nikolaus
if they’re still out there then the chasm grows
( for all you know, for all you’ve known )
@[linnea]