‘S-see. I’m like the sun.’
She remembers the vacuum of space squeezing her chest with a vice grip. She remembers endless darkness, being surprised how few and far between the stars really were – they seem so dense from earth, more than just fossilized light, strung out in lonesome corners of the galaxy.
She remembers floating past the moon and feeling disappointed with it – how pale and dead; a bloated corpse, pockmarked and desolate. Nothing romantic about it, at all.
She remembers getting too close to the sun, feeling it’s flares, like nine-tailed whips, against her face as she searched the roiling, molten surface for him.
But that had been a dream. Just a dream, and nothing more.
A dreamed-of universe with imagined constellations.
And yet, when she awoke, she was by the same shore where last – in that nightmarish dimension – she was skinned down to bare, white bone and condemned to a briny burial, attended by the reflections of a thousand far-away planets. It had not been black, however, but alive with a million shades of fire – imbued with dawn so violently, she had shot up, searching the island behind her for signs that the volcanic heart had herniated.
—it had been her.
She had been on fire.
At first, tiny flames licking each of her shoulder blades. And then, as if exposed to gasoline, they bursted outward, consuming, voraciously, oxygen and skin. Panic seized her lizard brain, and she ran, first to the ocean, whose wintered touch did nothing to extinguish the blaze but gentled the burn of her blistering skin for a moment. And then blindly, until she reached the bloodied plain and there she found a saviour. ‘Please.’ And mercy came, albeit slowly, before the fire devoured her whole.
‘...and you’re like the moon. W-we’re, perfect.’
He looked at her, with furrowed brow and concerned eye.
That had not been what she wanted. Not at all.
(‘Alight… where did this come from? Are you… okay?.’)
—the moon glows because the sun lets it.
---
She opens wide those bright, hungry wings, alight with orange and yellow. Hot, but no longer cooking the meat between her ribs – that flesh, mere hours ago raw and pink, white with bubbling fat, had mended itself. Smooth and golden. She watches them snap and growl as she twirls and dances, humming softly, shedding sparks into the cool, dusky air.
@[Cordis]
She remembers the vacuum of space squeezing her chest with a vice grip. She remembers endless darkness, being surprised how few and far between the stars really were – they seem so dense from earth, more than just fossilized light, strung out in lonesome corners of the galaxy.
She remembers floating past the moon and feeling disappointed with it – how pale and dead; a bloated corpse, pockmarked and desolate. Nothing romantic about it, at all.
She remembers getting too close to the sun, feeling it’s flares, like nine-tailed whips, against her face as she searched the roiling, molten surface for him.
But that had been a dream. Just a dream, and nothing more.
A dreamed-of universe with imagined constellations.
And yet, when she awoke, she was by the same shore where last – in that nightmarish dimension – she was skinned down to bare, white bone and condemned to a briny burial, attended by the reflections of a thousand far-away planets. It had not been black, however, but alive with a million shades of fire – imbued with dawn so violently, she had shot up, searching the island behind her for signs that the volcanic heart had herniated.
—it had been her.
She had been on fire.
At first, tiny flames licking each of her shoulder blades. And then, as if exposed to gasoline, they bursted outward, consuming, voraciously, oxygen and skin. Panic seized her lizard brain, and she ran, first to the ocean, whose wintered touch did nothing to extinguish the blaze but gentled the burn of her blistering skin for a moment. And then blindly, until she reached the bloodied plain and there she found a saviour. ‘Please.’ And mercy came, albeit slowly, before the fire devoured her whole.
‘...and you’re like the moon. W-we’re, perfect.’
He looked at her, with furrowed brow and concerned eye.
That had not been what she wanted. Not at all.
(‘Alight… where did this come from? Are you… okay?.’)
—the moon glows because the sun lets it.
---
She opens wide those bright, hungry wings, alight with orange and yellow. Hot, but no longer cooking the meat between her ribs – that flesh, mere hours ago raw and pink, white with bubbling fat, had mended itself. Smooth and golden. She watches them snap and growl as she twirls and dances, humming softly, shedding sparks into the cool, dusky air.
@[Cordis]
![[Image: RS84HN4.png]](http://i.imgur.com/RS84HN4.png)
Pollock x Malis
pixel base by bronzehalo