06-09-2021, 07:03 PM
"Please don't be sorry," Orville pleads, peeling his gaze away from the floating, multiplying stars to implore Basilica with his eyes. Please don't be sorry, he thinks, because he wonders if regret might tire her out, might kill her faster. The striped stallion sighs loudly, leans into the woman even if such a gesture might be fickle and useless. "Don't be sorry," he repeats, softer, the ghost of a whisper.
When she leans in, Orville feels hope, strong and renewing. A delicate, hesitant smile lifts his lips.
"Of course I'll stay, Basilica," he responds after a few moments of thought. He didn't have to stay; and this is the first time he's ever faced a moment like this: choosing to bear the weight of a stranger or refusing to simply because he owes her nothing. But that's not how Orville perceives the world, he finds for the first time. He owes the universe everything, all the dark and breaking things, because he held so much good within him. Good memories, a sweet family, so little pain. He can carry all of Basilica's and little of everyone else's. He'll take it all on, if it means the world might get to experience the kind of lovely, simple life he leads.
"Let's count those stars," Orville murmurs, lifting his head to press his cheek to hers, to lend her strength and hold her head up. "One . . ." a breath out. A breath in. An exhale: "Two . . ." Orville guides her face, finding new stars everywhere, too many for them to count, but still he perseveres.
"Let me help you more," he hisses, sounding more as if he is praying than speaking to a bleeding stranger. He thinks he might pray to her - to this feeling - forever.
When she leans in, Orville feels hope, strong and renewing. A delicate, hesitant smile lifts his lips.
"Of course I'll stay, Basilica," he responds after a few moments of thought. He didn't have to stay; and this is the first time he's ever faced a moment like this: choosing to bear the weight of a stranger or refusing to simply because he owes her nothing. But that's not how Orville perceives the world, he finds for the first time. He owes the universe everything, all the dark and breaking things, because he held so much good within him. Good memories, a sweet family, so little pain. He can carry all of Basilica's and little of everyone else's. He'll take it all on, if it means the world might get to experience the kind of lovely, simple life he leads.
"Let's count those stars," Orville murmurs, lifting his head to press his cheek to hers, to lend her strength and hold her head up. "One . . ." a breath out. A breath in. An exhale: "Two . . ." Orville guides her face, finding new stars everywhere, too many for them to count, but still he perseveres.
"Let me help you more," he hisses, sounding more as if he is praying than speaking to a bleeding stranger. He thinks he might pray to her - to this feeling - forever.
@[basilica]