03-06-2023, 09:53 PM
yes i know that love is like ghosts,
few have seen it but everybody talks —
few have seen it but everybody talks —
The portal behind them closes, and with it comes a brief sense of dread—that realization that there is no turning back.
But there are others here, and hesitantly she dares to steal a glance at them. They are all strangers, but somehow she finds hope in that; in the idea that so many from all walks of life have come together to mend what has been broken. It feeds into the idea that there are most likely others beyond those that are here that care, that do not want to see Beqanna torn apart because of someone else’s war.
When she looks at their surroundings, though, much of that hope dwindles.
All around her is mayhem and bloodshed, the cries of the dying and the echoes of those already dead ringing in her ears. Her eyes squeeze shut, and she fights that familiar feeling of panic that climbs up her throat; too many voices, too many things that she cannot fix. It is the sound of the sprite’s voice that finally gives her the courage to open her eyes again, to at least pretend that she is calm, and not on the verge of crawling out of her own skin. She wonders if they can hear the dead, too, in this strange time bubble—if anyone else can see the shapes of their souls, hear their voices, sense the pain that still pulsed within them long after their hearts had stopped.
She listens silently to those around here, takes in their ideas and lets herself stare at the war that does not seem ready to stop. Beqanna herself was not a stranger to war, but usually it was kept between kingdoms — it was not a riptide or a tornado, dragging in any who happen to wander too close. They were easy to avoid, if you wanted to. For Baltia and Stratos to fight for so long, to fight so hard that it has crossed dimensions, that was something beyond her comprehension.
There are a few that follow the vein of thought she has begun to track, and finally she speaks up softly, “Maybe it was an accident.” She is not bold enough to speak loudly to the masses, and so she turns her gaze to the sprite nearest to her, clarifying, “Like others mentioned, maybe it was a misunderstanding—where someone got hurt, but it wasn’t intentional.”
But there are others here, and hesitantly she dares to steal a glance at them. They are all strangers, but somehow she finds hope in that; in the idea that so many from all walks of life have come together to mend what has been broken. It feeds into the idea that there are most likely others beyond those that are here that care, that do not want to see Beqanna torn apart because of someone else’s war.
When she looks at their surroundings, though, much of that hope dwindles.
All around her is mayhem and bloodshed, the cries of the dying and the echoes of those already dead ringing in her ears. Her eyes squeeze shut, and she fights that familiar feeling of panic that climbs up her throat; too many voices, too many things that she cannot fix. It is the sound of the sprite’s voice that finally gives her the courage to open her eyes again, to at least pretend that she is calm, and not on the verge of crawling out of her own skin. She wonders if they can hear the dead, too, in this strange time bubble—if anyone else can see the shapes of their souls, hear their voices, sense the pain that still pulsed within them long after their hearts had stopped.
She listens silently to those around here, takes in their ideas and lets herself stare at the war that does not seem ready to stop. Beqanna herself was not a stranger to war, but usually it was kept between kingdoms — it was not a riptide or a tornado, dragging in any who happen to wander too close. They were easy to avoid, if you wanted to. For Baltia and Stratos to fight for so long, to fight so hard that it has crossed dimensions, that was something beyond her comprehension.
There are a few that follow the vein of thought she has begun to track, and finally she speaks up softly, “Maybe it was an accident.” She is not bold enough to speak loudly to the masses, and so she turns her gaze to the sprite nearest to her, clarifying, “Like others mentioned, maybe it was a misunderstanding—where someone got hurt, but it wasn’t intentional.”
Narya
— spirits follow everywhere i go,
they sing all day and they haunt me in the night
they sing all day and they haunt me in the night