and at once I knew, I was not magnificent [Adaline]

[adaline]

— A D A L I N E — your mouth is poison; your mouth is wine (you think your dreams are the same as mine) The stars are overwhelming tonight in their beauty, and she feels breathless in their presence, her alien head flung back to take them in—soak in the impossible infinity of their existence. Her pulse is pounding and it is enough to make her breathless, the excitement and wonder pushing the fragility of her body to its brink. How does one stare at the constellations and not revel in them? How do they live so wordlessly beneath the heaven’s reign? Never once staring up in awe at the swirling chasms above them. She was not given the luxury of living so carelessly, so ignorantly. She was born into a life that demanded she appreciate each moment, each second. She knew that no one was guaranteed the years that seemingly stretched on forever before them, but she also knew that hers were especially precarious. Few feared for their life in the way she did, save her brother. Few knew the delicate balance of her life. After all, few saw walking as a life and death act, but she did. Her beauty was otherworldly in a way that most could not understand: long, slender skeleton made of glass bones, sheer skin pulled too tight, large eyes pink and raw. What should have been her crowning glory, her wings, were a mockery of the freedom that they should have offered. Instead of giving her the gift of flight, they gave her the empty potential of it. For where feathers should have sprouted were only torn edges and protruding, glass bones. She knew her brother had tried once, and oh she had loved him for his bravery, but he had ultimately failed and been given shattered bones as a gift for his courage. Tears sting the corner of her eyes, and her breast heaves in a half-sob, the cruelty of her existence sinking deep into her bones. All she wanted was passion and adventure and adrenaline; oh, all she wanted was the vicious pain of a life well-lived. Not this empty shell, not this masquerade. Closing her eyes, she swallows and then takes a deep breath, steadying herself and finding calm in the quiet. That is until she hears the sigh of the stallion she had not noticed nearby—the one with her agony mirrored on his features. Intrigued, the alien-dreamer moves forward slowly, her head tilting to the side as she takes him in slowly. “Hello?” she breathes, her voice as unsubstantial and soft as one might expect—barely above a whisper. “Are you alright?” Perhaps, she thought, they could be not alright together.