09-19-2019, 10:56 PM
{ and all we are is skin and bone trained to get along,
forever going with the flow but you're friction }
The first thing she had noticed about the world was how bright it was.
She had been born just as dawn was breaking across the tops of the trees, sunlight filtering through the autumn-colored leaves of Sylva. She remembers the glowing stars on her mother’s side, and the way the light of her father’s halo illuminated his golden face.
And to her, that’s what the world was – golden.
And incredibly quiet.
She didn’t notice, of course, that there was anything different about her. She didn’t realize it wasn’t normal that she hadn’t heard the way her mother had murmured Lilt into her ear, but Starsin had noticed something was off almost immediately. Her daughter’s thoughts didn’t seem to react or register anything that was spoken, and she couldn’t deny the twinge in her chest at realizing she was deaf. But everything else about her – the promise of a horn on her small forehead, the tiny wings that lay folded against her vibrant, glowing sides – was flawless, and even though a part of Starsin knew her daughter would learn to overcome every challenge thrown at her, she was still fiercely protective.
Because of this, the little girl was rarely out of her mother’s sight, and today was no different. As desperately as she wanted to keep her sheltered in the safety of Sylva, or with one of her elder siblings, she also knew the only way she was going to learn how to survive in the world was to do something on her own. Glancing down at Lilt, Starsin can feel her chest tightening – and somewhere, in Ophie’s rib cage, her heart was clenching and twisting, and it was only the reassuring flutter of his heart that lends her the strength to place her lips against Lilt’s forehead, and say softly, “I’ll be back later, okay?” She knows she can’t hear her, but it was a difficult habit to break. Lilt blinked up at her with her silver eyes, and even though she couldn’t fully comprehend what her mother said, she has learned her body language and the worry that always seemed to cloud her usually intense blue eyes when she looked at her, and she says in her whisper of a voice, “I’ll be okay. You’ll be back when it’s dark?”
Once Starsin has finally left – or at least, disappeared from Lilt’s line of sight – the filly realizes that for the first time, she is completely alone. Hugging her wings tightly to her sides she takes a few tentative steps forward. She can see other children playing in the distance, but she is suddenly overcome with an overwhelming sense of unease and shyness. There have been a few times that she has accidentally shattered things as she passed, or when bumping into them. What if she did that here? Looking over her shoulder, and not seeing the familiar face of her mother, she finally settles beneath the great branches of a tree. Leaning her shoulder against the rough bark, she sighs, watching them all with worried eyes.
She had been born just as dawn was breaking across the tops of the trees, sunlight filtering through the autumn-colored leaves of Sylva. She remembers the glowing stars on her mother’s side, and the way the light of her father’s halo illuminated his golden face.
And to her, that’s what the world was – golden.
And incredibly quiet.
She didn’t notice, of course, that there was anything different about her. She didn’t realize it wasn’t normal that she hadn’t heard the way her mother had murmured Lilt into her ear, but Starsin had noticed something was off almost immediately. Her daughter’s thoughts didn’t seem to react or register anything that was spoken, and she couldn’t deny the twinge in her chest at realizing she was deaf. But everything else about her – the promise of a horn on her small forehead, the tiny wings that lay folded against her vibrant, glowing sides – was flawless, and even though a part of Starsin knew her daughter would learn to overcome every challenge thrown at her, she was still fiercely protective.
Because of this, the little girl was rarely out of her mother’s sight, and today was no different. As desperately as she wanted to keep her sheltered in the safety of Sylva, or with one of her elder siblings, she also knew the only way she was going to learn how to survive in the world was to do something on her own. Glancing down at Lilt, Starsin can feel her chest tightening – and somewhere, in Ophie’s rib cage, her heart was clenching and twisting, and it was only the reassuring flutter of his heart that lends her the strength to place her lips against Lilt’s forehead, and say softly, “I’ll be back later, okay?” She knows she can’t hear her, but it was a difficult habit to break. Lilt blinked up at her with her silver eyes, and even though she couldn’t fully comprehend what her mother said, she has learned her body language and the worry that always seemed to cloud her usually intense blue eyes when she looked at her, and she says in her whisper of a voice, “I’ll be okay. You’ll be back when it’s dark?”
Once Starsin has finally left – or at least, disappeared from Lilt’s line of sight – the filly realizes that for the first time, she is completely alone. Hugging her wings tightly to her sides she takes a few tentative steps forward. She can see other children playing in the distance, but she is suddenly overcome with an overwhelming sense of unease and shyness. There have been a few times that she has accidentally shattered things as she passed, or when bumping into them. What if she did that here? Looking over her shoulder, and not seeing the familiar face of her mother, she finally settles beneath the great branches of a tree. Leaning her shoulder against the rough bark, she sighs, watching them all with worried eyes.
Lilt