this is the light that shines; Joscelin/Isilya/any

[Joscelin]

joscelin

He doesn’t leave when she tells him to. A part of her expected that, the part that remembers their youthful adventures. He isn’t afraid of her, even if he should be. That part of her is glad that he doesn’t go. The sadness and hurt long for a shoulder to cry on, an ear to spill her woes into. The other part, the dangerous one, is angered that he is so callous with his life. Furious that he will not let her stew in peace. Gladdened that her rage now has a target. In that moment the apathy gives way to those warring halves of her. The cracks etched into her skin begin to shimmer and glow, a sure sign of an oncoming storm.

By sheer dint of will, she brings the raging emotions inside of her under some semblance of control. Her golden eyes shine brightly as her gaze turns to lock onto Ramiel’s, a lifeline in the wild tempest that she has become. Slowly, so slowly that the battle is easily visible, that first part wins out. The sadness etches onto her features as her body sags ever so slightly. The light flickering along her broken edges begins to fade until it snuffs out, leaving only the blackness of the cracks scoring her skin.

She doesn’t answer his question for several long moments. When she finally does, her voice is small, quiet. He would have to strain to hear her.

No. Not anymore.

It’s true her body no longer hurt. It had though. Oh had it hurt. He could not possibly imagine what it had felt like to be overtaken by a chill so frigid that her body could not move. To freeze as hard glass. To shatter, as though someone had tapped on her frozen body with a hammer. To be consumed by a terrifying blackness, knowing that this is how it ends. To be brought back in a firestorm of agony, body pieced hastily back together and welded by searing magic. To scream and scream and never able to make a sound. He would never know. And that was the worst pain of all.

She doesn’t notice the filly until she speaks, her gaze glued to Ramiel’s as it is, silent, desperate appeal in those golden depths. Her head whips around, eyes widening as they land on the flower strewn filly. She back pedals quickly, not looking where she is going. As a result, she rams solidly into a tree. The jolt brings the light sparking back to life beneath her skin. It flickers madly, as though seeking an escape. Had she been more herself, she might have noticed the distinctive white and gold, realized that this must be another sibling. Instead she looks at her with wild eyes, wondering what had possessed her to wander into a grove pockmarked by holes.

The girl’s comment causes her to laugh, a laugh as strained and broken as the rest of her.

Plants can’t help me.

there's a song in your lung and a dream in your eye

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