She is familiar with grief.
It is an architectural thing within her, a marrow in the beautiful bones of hers that keep moving, keep persisting. It is foundational to her, the love story that ended as so many do – with one gone, one not.
But she grows around it. She keeps her foundations and grows still. Her life is by no means comfortable, but she is alive, and isn’t that something?
It has been a long time since she’s been in the meadow. She flickers in and out of Beqanna, finding the memories there occasionally too painful. But she cannot stay away forever.
Grief, in time, can become something almost sweet. A melancholy, a memory. And occasionally she aches for sweetness.
She expects these feelings when she comes to the meadow, and she is met with them. She feels the low ache in her, and for a moment her eyes close and she breathes deep, steadying herself. Another step, and another, until the rhythm of walking eases her.
What she does not expect is another lightning-being, and this makes her pause.
He is bright – blue to her silver – but the same crackling of lightning across the skin, and her own flickers unconsciously, as if calling out.
And so, curiosity piqued, electricity crackling over her skin, she steps forward.
“Hello,” she says, voice clear over the hum of electricity they each carry.
I’ll touch you all and make damn sure
Cordis
that no one touches me
@
Gale