05-27-2021, 06:29 PM
Ryatah
— there's something tragic about you, something so magic about you, don't you agree?
She has worried over him ever since she last saw him. When she had returned to Hyaline, a ghost in every way except for actually being dead, it was only Firion that she could think of. The gauntness of his face, the flesh that pulled away from bone—the way that he had looked at her, and the realization that she was powerless to help him. To realize that she had not only failed Este, but him as well, was nearly more than she could bear. She is sure she would have collapsed beneath the impossible weight of it all if only she had been tangible enough to do so.
Instead all of her pain slips right through, clattering against rib and bone and settling to dust on the floor.
In the days that followed the return of the sun she had searched for him, following the exigent ache in her chest. Should she be surprised that he had not come to her, that she had to find everything out by accident? She knows that she should not, and the pain buries itself deeper with the acceptance of it. She loves her children—all of them—in a way that is unmatched, but she had a way of letting other things consume her. She had not always been as easy to find as she is now, with a place permanently alongside Atrox.
It tears her apart that he had not looked for her, but nothing says he would have even found her if he had tried.
When he comes to her in Hyaline she is alone, Atrox having slipped away not long ago. The feel of someone so close when she did not expect him to be back this soon is enough for her to turn to meet them with a defensively bright glow, a shower of stardust shimmering toward the ground with her abrupt movement. She is not a fighter, but the days in the darkness have left her still on edge, and these newfound archangel powers are unfamiliar to her — a strength that she cannot quite control that sometimes rises, unbidden.
The sound of his voice is all that she needs for every defense to fall, and the relief that rushes through her is enough to nearly bring her to her knees. “Firion,” she says his name with every ounce of sorrow and regret and happiness that is possible to feel, a tangle of emotions that tighten in her throat. Her aura, though brighter than it had been previously as an angel, dims just slightly from what it had been before, and she wastes no time wrapping her slender neck around his. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you,” she says quietly into his mane, and the apology is all-encompassing—sorry that she was not there for the curse, sorry she was not there at the mountain.
She pulls away, noticing the darkness that clings to him, but mostly notices that he did not look the way he had when she last saw him. “You’re feeling better?” She asks him with a cautious hope, a small smile on her pale mouth.
Instead all of her pain slips right through, clattering against rib and bone and settling to dust on the floor.
In the days that followed the return of the sun she had searched for him, following the exigent ache in her chest. Should she be surprised that he had not come to her, that she had to find everything out by accident? She knows that she should not, and the pain buries itself deeper with the acceptance of it. She loves her children—all of them—in a way that is unmatched, but she had a way of letting other things consume her. She had not always been as easy to find as she is now, with a place permanently alongside Atrox.
It tears her apart that he had not looked for her, but nothing says he would have even found her if he had tried.
When he comes to her in Hyaline she is alone, Atrox having slipped away not long ago. The feel of someone so close when she did not expect him to be back this soon is enough for her to turn to meet them with a defensively bright glow, a shower of stardust shimmering toward the ground with her abrupt movement. She is not a fighter, but the days in the darkness have left her still on edge, and these newfound archangel powers are unfamiliar to her — a strength that she cannot quite control that sometimes rises, unbidden.
The sound of his voice is all that she needs for every defense to fall, and the relief that rushes through her is enough to nearly bring her to her knees. “Firion,” she says his name with every ounce of sorrow and regret and happiness that is possible to feel, a tangle of emotions that tighten in her throat. Her aura, though brighter than it had been previously as an angel, dims just slightly from what it had been before, and she wastes no time wrapping her slender neck around his. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you,” she says quietly into his mane, and the apology is all-encompassing—sorry that she was not there for the curse, sorry she was not there at the mountain.
She pulls away, noticing the darkness that clings to him, but mostly notices that he did not look the way he had when she last saw him. “You’re feeling better?” She asks him with a cautious hope, a small smile on her pale mouth.
there's something wretched about this, something so precious about this, oh what a sin —