01-30-2022, 10:03 PM
Ryatah
WHEN I WAS SHIPWRECKED I THOUGHT OF YOU
IN THE CRACKS OF LIGHT I DREAMED OF YOU
She can feel the tears that slide down his cheeks as if they are sliding down her own, and she pulls back to gently brush them away. “There is no one else I would have wanted to find me,” she tells him, quiet but earnest, catching his golden eyes and holding them with hers. “I know you did all that you could, Firion. And I never doubted for a second that you were not looking for me, or trying to figure out how to get me back.” She knew that none of her children would want to sit idly by as she drifted in the unknown; she knew none of them would accept the idea that she, the one that death never seemed to keep, had suddenly succumbed to it so easily.
And of all of them, she knew Firion would fight back the hardest.
She knew that he would push his magic to the limits, knew that if anyone could piece together what happened and know where to find her, it would be him.
She watches, at first in confusion and then in fascination as he tosses magic into the air as if it is a tangible thing. The kaleidoscope of colors reflects against the glossy almost-black of her eyes, and she exhales a soft note of surprise when all that is left is a single thread—her thread—bright and shining. She reaches for it without touching, hovering close enough that the light of her aura collides with the light of the thread, and a small smile touches her white lips.
“From the moment you were born I knew you would be great,” she tells him, her gaze shifting from his magic back to his face, and her chest aches with the pride that swells there. Aislyn had been their first, but Firion was the first to be born after the love that existed between her and Atrox could no longer be denied, making him a first in his own right. She did not play favorites—she loved all of her children endlessly—but she could not ignore that there was something about Firion that set him apart from everyone else, even from her other children with Atrox.
There were so many moments spread out over the course of his life that had told her he was different; it made letting him go when he had left all the harder, but she knew whatever greatness he was destined for would not happen trapped at her side. Now, she touches her lips again to his cheek, to the place where the tears had dried against his skin—focusing solely on him so that she does not have to look at how the edges of her reality still felt blurry and unsure. “And I was right.”
And of all of them, she knew Firion would fight back the hardest.
She knew that he would push his magic to the limits, knew that if anyone could piece together what happened and know where to find her, it would be him.
She watches, at first in confusion and then in fascination as he tosses magic into the air as if it is a tangible thing. The kaleidoscope of colors reflects against the glossy almost-black of her eyes, and she exhales a soft note of surprise when all that is left is a single thread—her thread—bright and shining. She reaches for it without touching, hovering close enough that the light of her aura collides with the light of the thread, and a small smile touches her white lips.
“From the moment you were born I knew you would be great,” she tells him, her gaze shifting from his magic back to his face, and her chest aches with the pride that swells there. Aislyn had been their first, but Firion was the first to be born after the love that existed between her and Atrox could no longer be denied, making him a first in his own right. She did not play favorites—she loved all of her children endlessly—but she could not ignore that there was something about Firion that set him apart from everyone else, even from her other children with Atrox.
There were so many moments spread out over the course of his life that had told her he was different; it made letting him go when he had left all the harder, but she knew whatever greatness he was destined for would not happen trapped at her side. Now, she touches her lips again to his cheek, to the place where the tears had dried against his skin—focusing solely on him so that she does not have to look at how the edges of her reality still felt blurry and unsure. “And I was right.”
AND IT WAS REAL ENOUGH TO GET ME THROUGH —
BUT I SWEAR YOU WERE THERE