06-20-2016, 10:02 AM
His family is a thing gone – his parents had left him and Adaline tanged on the sands as they walked into the ocean, the morbid endnote to a relationship built on tragedy. There are distant relatives, half-siblings and cousins, all scattered and none with names he knows.
There was only Adaline, as family (as more) but she is gone, too; thus, he is alone in this.
He is alone and he is glass, and every heartbeat is a miracle because nature should not allow this, should not allow such a delicate creature to transgress the earth. But it does, and he exists in his own strange tenuous way.
And though there’s been a kingdom, once, the possibility of a home – the falls, with water powerful enough to break him and a wolf-girl who led him through its paths – it was no more, for he had died there, and he could not go back without remembering the stench of blood and she way Adaline had cried his name.
So it’s back to the meadow where he is a ship in the night, where those he knows are long gone, where he walks on breakable legs until he doesn’t, until he stands before a stranger and offers his name because it’s all he has to give.
She asks what brings him to the meadow and he considers it, wonders how to distill his terrible history into a facetious sentence, lest he send her running.
“I was…” he pauses, muses on the choice of words, “…displaced from my former home.”
Enough about him.
“What about you, Kena?”
contagion
be careful making wishes in the dark