01-02-2021, 05:08 PM
chasmata
It had been day, she was certain of it.
It had been day and then, quite suddenly and much earlier than it should have been, it was night. Or something like night.
She had curled herself into the darkness of some nondescript corner of the forest where the sun could not reach her (how terribly it burned her skin to be exposed to it!) and had emerged, blinking, when all of the light had gone from the world.
It was not night, she knew that, but it certainly was not day either. Not anymore. Not when it should have been.
If it were night, her vision would have been clear, unmuddied by the sun’s rays. And the vision had certainly improved, but it was not as it should have been. She did not burn when she emerged, though, which was perhaps the most important thing. More important, certainly, than her ability to see because she had more or less learned to navigate the world blind.
She wanders now through the dense darkness, spooked occasionally by the way the shadows seem to move and teem with life. She peers into them but cannot discern darkness from darkness, unaware that the things that linger in the shadows are the sort of things whose edges soften when they are looked at directly.
She goes to the river because she thinks it familiar. She moves quickly and finds herself breathless by the time she makes it to the water’s edge. The auroras splashed across her sides glow faintly in this strange darkness and (though she does not know it yet) make her an easy target.
It had been day and then, quite suddenly and much earlier than it should have been, it was night. Or something like night.
She had curled herself into the darkness of some nondescript corner of the forest where the sun could not reach her (how terribly it burned her skin to be exposed to it!) and had emerged, blinking, when all of the light had gone from the world.
It was not night, she knew that, but it certainly was not day either. Not anymore. Not when it should have been.
If it were night, her vision would have been clear, unmuddied by the sun’s rays. And the vision had certainly improved, but it was not as it should have been. She did not burn when she emerged, though, which was perhaps the most important thing. More important, certainly, than her ability to see because she had more or less learned to navigate the world blind.
She wanders now through the dense darkness, spooked occasionally by the way the shadows seem to move and teem with life. She peers into them but cannot discern darkness from darkness, unaware that the things that linger in the shadows are the sort of things whose edges soften when they are looked at directly.
She goes to the river because she thinks it familiar. She moves quickly and finds herself breathless by the time she makes it to the water’s edge. The auroras splashed across her sides glow faintly in this strange darkness and (though she does not know it yet) make her an easy target.
the moonlight, baby, shows you what’s real
but there ain’t language for the things i feel
but there ain’t language for the things i feel
@[Tiercel]