jamie
03-10-2021, 02:43 PM
jamie
I CAN’T EXACTLY DESCRIBE HOW I FEEL
BUT IT’S NOT QUITE RIGHT
BUT IT’S NOT QUITE RIGHT
Life begins with such a heavenly glow, the most brilliant white. The last daughter instinctively curls herself toward it, the electric warmth of it, gasping against the cold. The last daughter seeks out the crush of her sisters, the familiar tangle of limbs, the soft beating of their hearts.
They are beautiful, heaven tells them, and she fills them with a warmth that radiates outward from the center of their chests. The last daughter sighs sweetly, fulfilled. This daughter will survive on love, this creator of life. She will let it sustain her. One day she will sink her teeth into it and let it stain her lips such a vibrant red. But for now she curls herself tightly against heaven’s side, warmed by the presence of her sisters, content.
And the father feels a tender pull in his own chest, a fish hook that draws him from the shadows of Pangea. He knows that it is her, Beyza, and he goes without an ounce of hesitation. He wastes no time in summoning a wall of darkness and steps through it, allowing her thoughts to guide him and emerging several yards away from the den she has built for them.
He had not been expecting them, not this early. That dark heart spasms, slamming itself fiercely against its ribbed cage at the sight of them and he surges forward from the dark to join them. “Beyza,” he gasps, breathless, freakish yellow eyes ablaze.
What is this feeling that seizes him?
This, he thinks, this is pride.
The daughters curled around her are even more terribly beautiful than he could have hoped they might be. For the first time, he hesitates, afraid to touch them. He trembles with nerves.
“Beyza,” he says again, wheezing, ashamed suddenly of the strange voice. He wants to be perfect for them, these otherworldly girls. “They are perfect.” He is reduced to the strange, chattering thing he had been the first time they’d met by this giddy excitement, this paternal pride. He wants so badly to touch them, but still he refrains. Unworthy, desperate thing he is.
Instead, he summons things from darkness for them. Creatures like him. Wolf pups spun from compressed shadows, one for each of them. Companions, pets. Temporary or permanent. Gifts, maybe. Whatever they’d like for them to be. The pups slink away from their creator and curl up beside each of the fillies as Jamie returns his focus to Beyza. “Feel free to destroy them if they get in the way,” he tells her and flashes her a shark-tooth smile fraught with nerves.
They are beautiful, heaven tells them, and she fills them with a warmth that radiates outward from the center of their chests. The last daughter sighs sweetly, fulfilled. This daughter will survive on love, this creator of life. She will let it sustain her. One day she will sink her teeth into it and let it stain her lips such a vibrant red. But for now she curls herself tightly against heaven’s side, warmed by the presence of her sisters, content.
And the father feels a tender pull in his own chest, a fish hook that draws him from the shadows of Pangea. He knows that it is her, Beyza, and he goes without an ounce of hesitation. He wastes no time in summoning a wall of darkness and steps through it, allowing her thoughts to guide him and emerging several yards away from the den she has built for them.
He had not been expecting them, not this early. That dark heart spasms, slamming itself fiercely against its ribbed cage at the sight of them and he surges forward from the dark to join them. “Beyza,” he gasps, breathless, freakish yellow eyes ablaze.
What is this feeling that seizes him?
This, he thinks, this is pride.
The daughters curled around her are even more terribly beautiful than he could have hoped they might be. For the first time, he hesitates, afraid to touch them. He trembles with nerves.
“Beyza,” he says again, wheezing, ashamed suddenly of the strange voice. He wants to be perfect for them, these otherworldly girls. “They are perfect.” He is reduced to the strange, chattering thing he had been the first time they’d met by this giddy excitement, this paternal pride. He wants so badly to touch them, but still he refrains. Unworthy, desperate thing he is.
Instead, he summons things from darkness for them. Creatures like him. Wolf pups spun from compressed shadows, one for each of them. Companions, pets. Temporary or permanent. Gifts, maybe. Whatever they’d like for them to be. The pups slink away from their creator and curl up beside each of the fillies as Jamie returns his focus to Beyza. “Feel free to destroy them if they get in the way,” he tells her and flashes her a shark-tooth smile fraught with nerves.
AND IT LEAVES ME COLD
@[Beyza]
@[Decima]