04-10-2021, 09:22 PM
elodie
It had happened so suddenly.
All of it all at once.
The sun had returned and with it had come fire.
A halo of fire hovering just above her brow, fine strands of flame spiraling through her hair, an aura of fireflies curling sweetly around her head.
Baptism by fire. She had been alone and then, quite simply, she was not alone.
How could she be alone when the flames spoke? They could not tell her where her mother had gone, but they spoke all the same. And being alone was not the same with the sun hanging fat overhead where it was meant to be anyway.
There is even some comfort to be found in the moon and the stars after so much impenetrable darkness. The darkness which had taken so much from her. Not just her mother but the horns she had inherited from her father, too. But it had given her things, too. It had given her fire, the flames singing in her hair. (It had been the sun, though, that had given her the ring of fire hanging heavy just above her brow.)
She wonders about the woman trapped in the rain, if she had found her way back to her aloneness. Overhead, the stars watch as she makes her way toward the river where she had met a boy once with shells in his hair. How young she had been then.
They cast their own light, the both of them. It is this that draws her to him.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” she asks him, smiling tenderly, bell-soft. “The moon,” she clarifies, tipping back her head to peer up at it. The fire follows and, as she raises her gaze skyward, a flurry of fireflies ascends in a tight spiral, as if intent on drawing the moon down out of the sky for her.
“I didn’t realize how much I’d missed it until it came back.”
All of it all at once.
The sun had returned and with it had come fire.
A halo of fire hovering just above her brow, fine strands of flame spiraling through her hair, an aura of fireflies curling sweetly around her head.
Baptism by fire. She had been alone and then, quite simply, she was not alone.
How could she be alone when the flames spoke? They could not tell her where her mother had gone, but they spoke all the same. And being alone was not the same with the sun hanging fat overhead where it was meant to be anyway.
There is even some comfort to be found in the moon and the stars after so much impenetrable darkness. The darkness which had taken so much from her. Not just her mother but the horns she had inherited from her father, too. But it had given her things, too. It had given her fire, the flames singing in her hair. (It had been the sun, though, that had given her the ring of fire hanging heavy just above her brow.)
She wonders about the woman trapped in the rain, if she had found her way back to her aloneness. Overhead, the stars watch as she makes her way toward the river where she had met a boy once with shells in his hair. How young she had been then.
They cast their own light, the both of them. It is this that draws her to him.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” she asks him, smiling tenderly, bell-soft. “The moon,” she clarifies, tipping back her head to peer up at it. The fire follows and, as she raises her gaze skyward, a flurry of fireflies ascends in a tight spiral, as if intent on drawing the moon down out of the sky for her.
“I didn’t realize how much I’d missed it until it came back.”
I’ll let my hunger take me there
@[firion]