[private] Sing us a song and we'll sing it back to you

[Fyr]

I'll settle for the ghost of you.

Despite the way the starry patterns across her pale skin fades, no matter that her stars don’t swirl around her… There is no mistaking her. Just as there is no mistaking the expression of raw relief that floods across his golden features the moment he lands on her and settles on her familiar unsmiling face. That dark voice had been whispering in his ear since he had washed up on the Isle that maybe she would have forgotten him or worse, that she would be upset with him. He wouldn’t have blamed her if she had been. Yet, he doesn’t find anything accusing when he searches those endless black skies of hers and much of that fear Terror had manifested inside of him suddenly fades.

They study each other, these grown versions of themselves that are both foreign and familiar, until she shifts slightly and whatever spell that had fallen around him breaks. Relief starts to twist into concern as he looks for her stars and finds them missing. He has come to associate the heavens with the girl who called them down around her, had found some unholy determination when he looked up at them and thought of her even as the sea had tried to swallow him whole.

As a child, he had asked to befriend her constellations… These little sparks of heat and flame and beauty that had lured him to her in the hushed quiet that only midnight can provide. But it had never been the stars that he had really been curious about, as bewitching as they were.

He had never stopped hoping that one day he might still make her smile. It hadn’t occurred to him why that might be. It is so different from the playful banter he has found in Lillibet, that easy flirtation. While Pangea’s newest crown could make the fire rise along his back and curl bashfully around his shoulders… It doesn’t compare to the way the flames now dance beneath his crimson mane and spirals down his chest… As if they might reach for her and coax the stars from her once more. As if she wasn't mesmerizing on her own.

He understands what has changed.

The moment she says his name, that certain pronunciation, he smiles.

“Liesma.” He murmurs to her, not quite trusting the steadiness of his words. Regret flickering in the reflection of his fire when she speaks again. “I didn’t mean to be.” He says quietly in the deeper rougher tone that had appeared as he reached adulthood, feral yellow finding starless dark. (I didn’t want to be), says the fire dancing along his spine.

“I’m sorry.” Deep down he knows she wouldn’t ask for an apology but he feels she deserves one anyway. (I missed you), says the flames that scorch down his chest.

FYR

Photo by Little Willow Art


@liesma