but now we're sleeping at the edge, holding something we don't need
all this delusion in our heads is going to bring us to our knees
She prefers the night.
From a very young age, she had learned that to be alive for her is to find herself in the darkness, and she makes no attempt to change the course. She keeps to the nights, to the shadows, and she lives in the light of the stars instead of the glow of the sun. This has meant that she has made few friends, has not yet learned the meaning of community, but she feels no great loss because of it. Instead, she finds that she comes alive in her solitude, in the moments where she meets the other creatures of the night—letting their conversations mark her, mold her, carve her into this strange young woman that she is becoming.
In some ways, Aurorae is soft. She is lovely, graceful starlight. She walks through the common lands, leaving no trace of her comings and goings—just smoke that blows through the night. But if one was to look close they would see that the darkness of her parentage has not missed the mark in her. It lives there within her chest, beating alongside her moonglow heart—and she embraces it completely.
It pushes her to find the darkest amongst them.
Find their company and not shy from the blood on their chins, the sins in their eyes.
She molds herself around them and doesn’t worry what it will mean when she is fully formed. She lets it poison her veins and breathes it in deep, lets herself grow warm to the idea of them, accepting of them.
And so she stands tonight, on the precipice of adulthood, with the night reflecting in her eyes.
She pulls the starlight down around her shoulders, letting it shimmer around her, and she tips her lovely head back to stare at the sky that swirls around her in patterns that only she understands.
The darkness will find her eventually, she thinks.
And she will be here to greet it.
