07-07-2015, 11:24 PM
what is dead may never die;
As Thorrun takes her turn to speak, Aletheia finally begins to notice the girl's demeanor. It is similar to her own, quiet and subdued, as though somehow faraway. But she does not remember this girl from the place she's been; even with her memory fading, turning from technicolor to black and white and finally evaporating altogether, she would remember if this girl had been there. So it's not that – but then, what?
The girl seems surprised to hear that she lives here, and proceeds to pepper her with questions. Aletheia cannot help but smile, a small smile that looks exactly like her mother's (although she doesn't know it). At the end of the day, Thorrun is exactly the age she looks, unlike Aletheia, who has the benefit of so many more years (how many exactly is unclear) packed into a body that shouldn't be able to sustain it. If the situations were reversed, Aletheia could easily have held her tongue almost endlessly.
And, to a point, she does, letting Thorrun finish everything before she even starts to talk. She's got all day to explore, to answer questions. Aletheia is still learning of the concept of time, and so minutes don't feel precious to her. There is no hurry if there is no way to measure what it is to be early or late.
"I think I may have lived here forever." she answers honestly, without irony. Her voice is flat, as though she's speaking facts in a lecture, but beautiful and lyrical as though she's speaking poetry. "I was not born here. But I think I would've been, perhaps should've been, or at least, could've been." She does not explain further.
"As it happens, I've never seen you before either. Our paths simply…haven't crossed." Her voice arcs upward at the end, a verbal shrug. She smiles again, her mother's small half-smile. "I doesn't surprise me, really. You can't be everywhere in the Valley at once, and whatever you might be seeking here, or expecting to see…" she pauses for a moment. "I am not it."
She doesn't know that it's impolite to say these things. It never occurs to her that she shouldn't highlight the fact that the girl is obviously looking for something, or running from something, or both. She may know nothing of the world, but she knows that any horse who would wander the borders like this must have a reason for doing so – pacing and seeking are the same among the stars or on the planets. She doesn't know that, down here, such things are not discussed. And she certainly doesn't know that the oblique trauma she is so unknowingly driving at is the death of her own mother, and the death of the closest thing that Librette had ever had to a lover.
The girl seems surprised to hear that she lives here, and proceeds to pepper her with questions. Aletheia cannot help but smile, a small smile that looks exactly like her mother's (although she doesn't know it). At the end of the day, Thorrun is exactly the age she looks, unlike Aletheia, who has the benefit of so many more years (how many exactly is unclear) packed into a body that shouldn't be able to sustain it. If the situations were reversed, Aletheia could easily have held her tongue almost endlessly.
And, to a point, she does, letting Thorrun finish everything before she even starts to talk. She's got all day to explore, to answer questions. Aletheia is still learning of the concept of time, and so minutes don't feel precious to her. There is no hurry if there is no way to measure what it is to be early or late.
"I think I may have lived here forever." she answers honestly, without irony. Her voice is flat, as though she's speaking facts in a lecture, but beautiful and lyrical as though she's speaking poetry. "I was not born here. But I think I would've been, perhaps should've been, or at least, could've been." She does not explain further.
"As it happens, I've never seen you before either. Our paths simply…haven't crossed." Her voice arcs upward at the end, a verbal shrug. She smiles again, her mother's small half-smile. "I doesn't surprise me, really. You can't be everywhere in the Valley at once, and whatever you might be seeking here, or expecting to see…" she pauses for a moment. "I am not it."
She doesn't know that it's impolite to say these things. It never occurs to her that she shouldn't highlight the fact that the girl is obviously looking for something, or running from something, or both. She may know nothing of the world, but she knows that any horse who would wander the borders like this must have a reason for doing so – pacing and seeking are the same among the stars or on the planets. She doesn't know that, down here, such things are not discussed. And she certainly doesn't know that the oblique trauma she is so unknowingly driving at is the death of her own mother, and the death of the closest thing that Librette had ever had to a lover.
but rises again
Aletheia
harder and stronger