i know it hurts sometimes; perse

[perse]

i wanted pomegranates— i wanted darkness— i wanted him. She doesn’t know she is a promise writ, that once, there was a mare who was left without memory and a god who would give them back to her – at a price, of course. (In these stories, there is always a price.) She doesn’t know she was currency, spent before she was earned. And would she have minded, had she known? I think not, for Perse – Perse as she is now, not as she was, for the short time they had her – loves her life. In some cruel twist of fate, she loves the life her mother ran from, and aches to go back at some fundamental level, the way birds ache to migrate. I’ve missed you, says the mare – says her mother – but can Perse say the same? In truth, she recalls so little about them. She remembers Elektrum more clearly, but her mothers are something indistinct – hazy breaths of silver and gold. And rivers. For some reason, when she tries to remember them, she often thinks of rivers, light glinting off the surface. So she doesn’t respond in kind. Because it would be a lie. Spyndle is a stranger. (And Perse, a price.) “How is Elektrum?”she asks instead, because he is what she remembers most from her past, remembers time held in his palms, stars flying past. “I miss him.” That much is true, at least. p e r s e ------------------------------cordis x spyndle