Wayra couldn’t say what it was about Kirin, but for sure, it was something. She moved a little closer, and her chill moved with her. She didn’t touch him, didn’t get too close, but if she imagined, if she pictured it in her head, she could almost feel what it would be like to touch him. She could almost feel his warmth. And then he spoke of death. Wayra stopped and tilted her head, her face going vacant like a bird’s, or a marble statue.
Oh, Wayra knew something of death. It was, perhaps, the one remaining truth in her life. She had died, the fact that she was living now did little to dissuade her of it. She had died, slowly and painfully, but here she was. The moment felt like it had come full circle, and Wayra smiled, distantly, coldly. The boy with the purple wings and the spider smile knew her better than even he could have realized. They were two very different creatures, but they spoke the same language.
She did not, however, have the means of expressing that, and so she listened, letting his words and silence wrap around them like a cloak. He circled around her, and Wayra let him, hooves rooted to the spot, shard of ice and snow cracking the living earth beneath her. Then he did it, he spoke of family. Wayra was sure he could hear the audible crack that ripped through her chest at the word. Her brand, stamped in the center of her breast burned, and her veins seemed to turn icy and cold. Very, very quietly, Wayra murmured.
“I used to have a family.” She used to have a mother, a sister and a father who loved her. She had clung to them, like a burr clung to a dog. Then she had been taken, her world had been rendered, and now the Wayra that stood before him was not that girl, and had no family. Her glittering black eyes caught his. The sounds that floated to her ears were incomprehensible. It took her a while to puzzle them out, and she turned them over and over, delicately, like a child held a precious heirloom. Finally she understood, finally she saw he was offering her what she had lost, or, at the very least, a shadow of it. Either was better than she had allowed herself to home.
“I’m a resident of the Chamber, being held in the Gates.” Wayra’s eyes twinkled a little then, for it was very funny if you were in the mood to laugh. She was not in the mood, but she could imagine the possibility. Wayra, it would seem, found her way into many a chess game.
“But, in six months, I would like to meet them, your family.” Wayra said the word, family like one might utter a prayer, or a curse. It hurt, the memories of belonging. They were like a physical blow, but Wayra, numb to all but the ice and cold, bore it well. She bore it like another deserved lash across her back. She watched him, steadily, cautiously, for she knew well what could happen in six months. She wondered if she would be freed from the Gates to find him waiting, or if this too, would become another dream. Perhaps this meeting, like the memories of before, would be one more thing for her to turn over in her head, to admire, when nobody else was watching.
Wayra
the glass candles are burning
OOC: Sorry for the delay! I'm on semi-away until the end of the month, but I wanted to get this up.
