04-23-2023, 02:06 PM
— neuna
Still, the shadow-wolf has not revealed himself. It has been days now since she last heard the soft, sardonic edge of his voice in her head. She aches for him, the shadow-thing, as he had been the last thing tethering her to her father. (Other than her innate ability to manipulate the fog, though she so rarely exercises this ability because the fog had always seemed to belong exclusively to him.)
And she knows now that she should not miss her father as fiercely as she does. But she is a thing of Love, Neuna, and he had designed her that way, hadn’t he? Doesn’t that have to mean something?
She has stopped looking for the wolf by now, though it pains her to admit defeat. He will come back someday, she thinks, or has to believe. But she does not know exactly what it was that drove him off in the first place. How can she call out an apology to him if she does not know what she is apologizing for?
She wanders now through the meadow, the creatures here cast in that white halo of light by the wrongness of her eyes. (Eros would not cast the same glow, she knows, but it does not stop her from scanning the landscape in search of him, just once.)
In her cursory glance, her eyes land on something else entirely. A winged stallion racing across all that open space, bucking, happy. For a moment, she merely watches him, her own mouth bent softly around a smile. (She is a girl born from dark things, but there is a light in her, too. A light she’d inherited from her mother.) She ventures closer, head tilted, smiling still. And then she laughs out loud, her worry momentarily forgotten.
“You’re happy!” she calls to him, as if he does not already know this. And she tilts her head, studying him, and asks, “are you in love?” Because what else could inspire such happiness?
And she knows now that she should not miss her father as fiercely as she does. But she is a thing of Love, Neuna, and he had designed her that way, hadn’t he? Doesn’t that have to mean something?
She has stopped looking for the wolf by now, though it pains her to admit defeat. He will come back someday, she thinks, or has to believe. But she does not know exactly what it was that drove him off in the first place. How can she call out an apology to him if she does not know what she is apologizing for?
She wanders now through the meadow, the creatures here cast in that white halo of light by the wrongness of her eyes. (Eros would not cast the same glow, she knows, but it does not stop her from scanning the landscape in search of him, just once.)
In her cursory glance, her eyes land on something else entirely. A winged stallion racing across all that open space, bucking, happy. For a moment, she merely watches him, her own mouth bent softly around a smile. (She is a girl born from dark things, but there is a light in her, too. A light she’d inherited from her mother.) She ventures closer, head tilted, smiling still. And then she laughs out loud, her worry momentarily forgotten.
“You’re happy!” she calls to him, as if he does not already know this. And she tilts her head, studying him, and asks, “are you in love?” Because what else could inspire such happiness?
@assailant