09-18-2017, 12:53 PM
A flash of silver; a beacon, a lighthouse.
Of course she’s come.
Of course.
The turn of her cheek is jarring in the stillness as she looks across her shoulder, transfixed, through the parting river mist as a familiar shape rises from the water like a phoenix from ashes. A rebirth, how typical, with water that beads and rolls off Her silver skin like pearls (just like the first time).
“No,” says a voice.
It’s a sound that she has both lived and died for.
And she is remembering how the distance between them makes her ache. They are magnets, after all, and the galaxies between them must have stretched them both for miles and miles over the years. But she doesn’t run to Her. She might if she were not so afraid of unraveling into nothing.
Because She has always been home.
She has always been the shore.
“No, you’re not, you’re not -” and then Cordis’ light finds her. It casts shadows on her skin that roll like the tides of the ocean beyond them. ‘Alive,’ Spyndle will think, shook suddenly with the idea that this beginning will mean one more inevitable ending.
That this is just one more goodbye.
That this will become the last time, before she smokes out into the fog.
“You found me,” she says instead.
‘I’m sorry,’ is what she means.
Because she’s sorry for the sunsets. She’s sorry for the goodbyes. She’s sorry for the ache in Her chest, and how She’d known her bones in the river bed (the ones she stands over now, the ones she is beginning to remember).
Because she’s sorry that love is an act of bravery and that she became a coward.
Because she’s sorry that once Cordis drew maps along her skin, and underlined with her teeth the most important parts of her, and that the last time was the last time.
“You found me.”
;_; I MISSED THEM!