05-01-2022, 01:53 AM
You think I'll be the Dark Sky so you can be the Star?
I'll Swallow you whole.
I'll Swallow you whole.
She knows him, but only in the same way many in this land know him—a name, a mostly faceless god that only makes his presence known when it matches his agenda. She knows that they worship him—that even the ones that claim to hate him would twist themselves inside out if it would appease him. That sometimes he calls on them and always, always they come crawling just for the chance of being broken by him.
She had been raised on a different version of him, though.
Her mother spoke of him with an undeniable undertone of fondness, with a certain kind of reverence that Islas did not really understand. Emotions were already such a difficult thing that trying to decipher the tangled web her mother wove around her stories proved to be impossible, and so she stopped trying.
She remembers she had asked her mother if he could put her back; if he could take this mortal form and shape it back into a star, and put her back into the sky, back into her own constellation. She remembers how her mother had gone quiet, thoughtful, and how she had told her no, that was not something he could do.
And she remembers wondering why Ryatah had lied to her.
Her starlight dissolves into stardust, flickering and fading as it falls to the ground as he appears before her. She knows who he is immediately, owes it to the way her mother had so carefully described every shade of gray that dapples his skin and the exact color of his eyes. She stares at him in that silent, unreadable way that so many others found unnerving, as they did most things about her—she had learned quickly that the residents here did not like not knowing exactly how another is feeling, and liked it even less when they learned she largely felt nothing.
“You know my name,” she comments in that strange way of hers, in a voice that borrows the softness of her mother but lacks all the depth—clear but flat, silvery and somehow unpleasant all at once. She does not address him back, does not even know what she would call him, because somehow ‘father’ is ill-fitting.
“I’m looking for Tiercel,” she answers him honestly, because she is not built for lying, though a small frown shadows her face. “I haven’t seen him in awhile and….” she trails off, spinning together another orb of starlight and watching where it hovers above her in the sky. “I thought he might see the constellations and follow them.” Here, her purple-black eyes find his, and for the first time a flicker of hope rises from their dark depths when she says, “Perhaps you can find him. Mother says you can do anything.” For a price, she had cautioned, but Islas has already lost everything.
She had been raised on a different version of him, though.
Her mother spoke of him with an undeniable undertone of fondness, with a certain kind of reverence that Islas did not really understand. Emotions were already such a difficult thing that trying to decipher the tangled web her mother wove around her stories proved to be impossible, and so she stopped trying.
She remembers she had asked her mother if he could put her back; if he could take this mortal form and shape it back into a star, and put her back into the sky, back into her own constellation. She remembers how her mother had gone quiet, thoughtful, and how she had told her no, that was not something he could do.
And she remembers wondering why Ryatah had lied to her.
Her starlight dissolves into stardust, flickering and fading as it falls to the ground as he appears before her. She knows who he is immediately, owes it to the way her mother had so carefully described every shade of gray that dapples his skin and the exact color of his eyes. She stares at him in that silent, unreadable way that so many others found unnerving, as they did most things about her—she had learned quickly that the residents here did not like not knowing exactly how another is feeling, and liked it even less when they learned she largely felt nothing.
“You know my name,” she comments in that strange way of hers, in a voice that borrows the softness of her mother but lacks all the depth—clear but flat, silvery and somehow unpleasant all at once. She does not address him back, does not even know what she would call him, because somehow ‘father’ is ill-fitting.
“I’m looking for Tiercel,” she answers him honestly, because she is not built for lying, though a small frown shadows her face. “I haven’t seen him in awhile and….” she trails off, spinning together another orb of starlight and watching where it hovers above her in the sky. “I thought he might see the constellations and follow them.” Here, her purple-black eyes find his, and for the first time a flicker of hope rises from their dark depths when she says, “Perhaps you can find him. Mother says you can do anything.” For a price, she had cautioned, but Islas has already lost everything.
Islas
@Carnage