12-04-2021, 07:11 PM
Perhaps he is an old, jaded thing, hiding in young skin, who talks with a dismissive tone that hangs on him like ice upon the summer sea. But would he be as happy to die as she? Would he see it as freedom to let loose his words and soul and blood from the cage of flesh that chains them both so? Even if his soul can shift from one to another, it can never quite leave the trap it stays dormant in.
“Not sure, she was a diplomat though, at one point,” she says, leaving out how her mother went from diplomat, to healer, to Champion, to Queen.
“Freedom.” She repeats. The word comes as quick as a blink and it cracks with a certainty that is harsh against the tender softness of her parched lips. Freedom from this unholy skin she does not yet know well. Freedom from fear and sadness. Freedom from those black memories that seep like oil into the cracks and crevices of her soul and refused to contain any more than sea refuses to dry up to desert sand. “And you can think yourself free when are trapped, and believe yourself trapped when you are free,” she says. “So you might as well envision yourself how you wish,” she says.
If she dies she wants her soul to turn to dust with her bones, free at last to fetter way like a million fireflies on the breeze.
When he speaks again, the timbre of his confidence is enough to make her open her eyes. She watches him like the sea washes upon the shore. Her gaze touches his then washes away, back to the shadows, like a tide. Elli isn't brave enough to hold him in those summer-blue eyes. But she's brave enough to step towards him.
“I’ll tell you one,” she whispers, leaning closer until her breath touches his ear. “Close your eyes first, though,” she warns, pulling away and narrowing blue eyes.
When he opens his eyes, after maybe a few moments, or even a few moments longer than that. He will find an empty forest with a patch of blue sky above. Like the too blue eyes of a girl with a crescent moon hugging her shoulder.
@bolder