05-07-2021, 02:26 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 can see that he is changed, even if she is not quite so adept at reading emotions as most would be. She can see it because she knows him better than she knows anyone, because if there was anyone in this world that she would be able to muster an ounce of empathy and emotion for, it will always be him. Where his eyes had once looked like bright skies and blue waters now seemed darkened and tired, and his exhaustion is nearly palpable. There is fear, too, that still lingers despite being back in the safety of daylight and Loess, and she once again finds herself wishing that she was different. That she would know what to say or do to make him feel at ease, that she had a better grasp on empathy instead of the wispy, ghost-like hold that she has now.
Worry tinges her eyes at the sound of his voice, at the rawness of it, as if it is not even his own. His reassurances that he is not angry or disappointed draws her closer, though, until her lips can once again brush lightly against his cheek, before trailing upward and to the groove of his throat. “I missed you,” a rare confession, that even in the cool, silvery notes of her voice still manages to sound soft, conveying the ache and the longing that resides in her chest. “I was afraid you would never come back,” she continues quietly, voicing her greatest fear aloud.
It was a strange thing, to realize she cares about someone more than she cares about the stars; to be willing to be trapped in a starless existence if it meant that he was still here.
He asks of their daughter, and the smile that touches her lips is a true one, the kind that seems to soften the impossible dark of her eyes. “She was born not long after you were taken,” she tells him, marveling at how odd it is to recall the fear and panic of that day when they stand now in the sunlight, alive and whole, together. “Her name is Kamaria, and she reminds me so much of you.” From the dun markings and the emotions to her vibrant spirit and ability to keep Islas centered, she is nearly certain that Kamaria was the only thing that kept her anchored during this tumultuous time. Even though it hurt to know that Tiercel had missed so many things he would have otherwise been there for—a pain that she has grappled with for the entirety of his absence, because she had never envisioned herself doing any of this at all, much less alone—Kamaria being the way that she is had proved to serve as a worthy distraction.
“She asks about you all the time,” she tells him with a short, quiet laugh, having now stepped alongside him so that her shoulder could rest lightly against his. “Maybe you’ll have better luck at controlling her.”
Worry tinges her eyes at the sound of his voice, at the rawness of it, as if it is not even his own. His reassurances that he is not angry or disappointed draws her closer, though, until her lips can once again brush lightly against his cheek, before trailing upward and to the groove of his throat. “I missed you,” a rare confession, that even in the cool, silvery notes of her voice still manages to sound soft, conveying the ache and the longing that resides in her chest. “I was afraid you would never come back,” she continues quietly, voicing her greatest fear aloud.
It was a strange thing, to realize she cares about someone more than she cares about the stars; to be willing to be trapped in a starless existence if it meant that he was still here.
He asks of their daughter, and the smile that touches her lips is a true one, the kind that seems to soften the impossible dark of her eyes. “She was born not long after you were taken,” she tells him, marveling at how odd it is to recall the fear and panic of that day when they stand now in the sunlight, alive and whole, together. “Her name is Kamaria, and she reminds me so much of you.” From the dun markings and the emotions to her vibrant spirit and ability to keep Islas centered, she is nearly certain that Kamaria was the only thing that kept her anchored during this tumultuous time. Even though it hurt to know that Tiercel had missed so many things he would have otherwise been there for—a pain that she has grappled with for the entirety of his absence, because she had never envisioned herself doing any of this at all, much less alone—Kamaria being the way that she is had proved to serve as a worthy distraction.
“She asks about you all the time,” she tells him with a short, quiet laugh, having now stepped alongside him so that her shoulder could rest lightly against his. “Maybe you’ll have better luck at controlling her.”
Islas
@[Tiercel]