03-18-2026, 11:48 AM
these days i don’t pray when i close my eyes—
It takes several seconds of stunned silence for him to understand that it had been laughter. Or, at least, the approximation of it. The only thing that might pass for it coming out of his mouth, anyway. He has no memory of laughter, at least not his own. It’s certainly no surprise that it should be just as tired as the rest of him.
There is something heartbreaking in the way she’s smiling at him, gentle, earnest. He understands that, should he touch her, he would feel her death, too.
He looks to the eggs again, wonders about the giant birds or dragons that could have left them. He understands that, when she goes, he will still wonder. He’ll make her immortal with his wondering.
“Giant birds are less scary,” he agrees. And don’t they all need a reprieve from the terrifying things in this world? He remembers, still, how close he’d stuck to the border of his homeland, ready to run should he be found out. All that darkness and the grim, wicked things inside it.
Israfel. The laughter is a memory now and the beginnings of a smile he’d worn at the idea of eggs has worn off, too. But he looks at her a long beat and there is a softness in his face. And maybe it’s kindness or maybe it’s resignation, he has no way of knowing which.
“It’s nice to meet you, too,” he tells her, though there is something reluctant in it, as if he is not entirely certain it’s true. As if part of him understands that this, too, will end in devastation.
“How did you come to be made of gold?” he asks her then. Because this close up, it’s easy to tell that it is not simply the color of her that’s gold but everything else, too. Of all the things he’s seen in his wanderings, this is a first.
—I just bite my tongue a bit harder
@Israfel