it's strange what desire will make foolish people do; isakov

[isakov]

throw me in the water, don’t think about the splash i will create
leave me at the altar, knowing all the things you just escaped

Isakov has never had a gift for naming things either.
There are things that live in the cage of his chest that he has never been able to name and he looks at this star-kissed filly now and feels his heart seize with panic. Or dread. Or hesitation. (Even these things he cannot name with any real certainty.) 

He looks at the child and she is so beautiful it puts a vicious ache in his throat. And he had touched them, the pair of them, and they had made his body sing electric and he cannot maintain the illusion of peace when he is concentrating so fiercely on this monumental task.

“Sigrid?” he asks, the first thing that comes to him, something he heard whispered somewhere. A lovely thing he had not been aware that he’d kept. Because certainly he had never thought he would have such a lovely thing to give it to. 

The filly tilts her head and leans a shoulder heavy against her purple father, bathed in their own personal electricity, something that the star father will never be a part of. She blinks at the sound of the name, decides then that it is hers.

“I’m sorry you had to go through this alone,” the star father tells the purple father, quiet. 

 

isakov

@[sleaze]