"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
There are pieces of him that want to explore more. Pieces of him that want to continue moving beyond the borders that he has so clearly defined in the youth of his life. He has heard so many stories of the common lands and kingdoms. Of the smoking ice in the north, of the wild cliffs of Nerine, of the tide pools of Ischia. They all swirl around in his youthful head—leaving him aching for the kind of world that spreads so wide.
But he does not do it.
He stays close to Tephra and finds solace in his dreams every night. Finds that he takes comfort in the way that his own thoughts keep him company when his sister is not there. When his fathers are away.
Today though, it is not enough.
Today, he wakes and turns his amethyst gaze to the horizon where it lingers. He feels something stir in his gut that feels like courage and he holds onto it tight. Holds onto it enough that he finally peels away from the volcanic land and move toward the places that lay beyond. The places that he dreams of.
His heart thrums in his chest with every step. Pounding as he steps across the rivers and streams and the air becomes drier, the ground harder. He moves through the place where two forests blend—the redwoods of Taiga and the hickory of Sylva—before he comes to Loess. This place is vast and he finds that he feels vulnerable, soft and glowing, against the backdrop of its wide open plains. He moves quickly.
It blends again into a new forest and he catches his breath. Stands there with his nerves on fire, his heart fit to explode in his chest. His eyes widen slightly as he tucks his nose into his chest. His travels had taken him most of the day and he knew that night was falling. Perhaps he had not thought this completely through, he thinks, as he realizes that he would likely need to spend the night here before returning.
The thought exhilarates him in the same breath that it terrifies him.
She is not nearly as cautious as she should be, and in the beginning it had terrified her mother.
Desire wanted to keep her glass girls close, wanted to keep them safe, afraid of all the things in this world that could break them. But even before Hourglass had discovered her intangibility she had been reckless. She did not mind the way her glass legs quivered at her weight when she leapt, she paid little attention to the sound objects made when they hit or scraped against her glass body – and even less to the hairline scratches that were left behind.
The moment she had discovered solid objects could pass through her, the same way they can her mother, her bravery expanded tenfold.
She learned how to avoid unforgiving limbs and jagged rocks, she was no longer afraid of the shower of stones sent from her hooves when she explored Pangea. The only thing that dimmed her excitement at this discovery was that Clem didn’t share it. Her sister remained just as fragile as glass, and Hourglass understood now why their parents were so cautious and protective.
It was why she slipped away without her twin, leaving her curled and safe at their mother’s side. There is guilt that settles like a stone in her chest, since she rarely did anything without her, but it is quickly forgotten with the expanse of the world laid out before her child-eyes. With the sun setting as she finds her way across the river, the last of the light glinting off the red-glass of her body, she disappears into the forest.
Nightfall brings with it a lulling hush, but she is not the only one awake. An owl hoots softly overhead, and she can hear other animals scurrying through the brush and rustling the limbs of the trees. She picks her way daintily across fallen logs, and her eyes brighten at the sight of small, glowing fireflies that float and and twirl in the velvet of the night. She follows them, paying little attention to anything else, her laugh clear and unhindered with so few other sounds to interrupt it.
She follows them around a particularly thick grove of trees, and she starts at the sight of the glowing boy. "Oh!" She stutters to a stop, so rarely caught off guard, and the surprise reflects in her lilac-colored eyes. But she recovers with a laugh, stepping towards him, the fireflies bobbing between them. "I'm sorry, I didn't expect to find anyone else out here this time of night." She looks to the fireflies, and then to the soft glow that radiates from him, and comments with a brilliant smile, "You glow like a firefly. Maybe that's why they brought me to you."
I don’t believe that anybody
feels the way I do about you now
oh, these wings, they flicker and my feathers stir 'til I'm an ancient soul in a cascade world
He hadn’t expected to be caught so quickly—to have someone find him. His surprise is captured in her own eyes and that settles the stirring of his heart, causing the quick thrumming to settle into something gentle and easy. Something like courage strikes him, a protectiveness that he does not often feel when he realizes how fragile she is. “Oh,” the word escapes him on an exhale as she closes the distance between them, as he continues to study the way that the light reflects off of every curve of her.
There’s something that cracks within him at the fragility—at the way she could so easily shatter. It makes his tongue thick and the words fail, even as he feels the need to shield her from the rest of the world. From himself, even. Finally though, the words do come. He realizes the fireflies, finally able to focus on something other than just her, and he smiles—delighted by the way that they dance around them.
“I never thought about that,” he manages, having always thought of his glow more like the stars than the smaller creatures of earth. He wonders if he more earthly than celestial, and finds he doesn’t mind the answer. “They remind me of—“ his voice is cut off as the sky darkens further and the stars begin to dapple in the sky above them. It’s then that he feels her presence and his grin deepens.
She arches down from the sky above, a glowing bar of light, and spins in a delighted loop under his belly before bobbing in front of him. “Speaking of which,” his voice is lighter, the weight of his own social anxieties lifted in the star’s presence. “This is Astrum.” Almost reluctantly, the star turns around, seemingly to face the girl of glass and bobs again—a greeting as best as it is able.
Relaxing in his familiar’s presence, Aureus focuses again on the girl and feels that pang in his heart as the realization of her fragility strikes him again. “And I’m Aureus.”
Who are you, he wants to ask, but the words fade once more.
and I'm quick with the bullet when it comes undone I got a head like a turret with a mouth for a gun
She recognizes that look on his face. It’s the same way most look at her and her sister; almost pity, but not quite. Like they are worried and afraid for them, an instinctual need to protect something that is fragile from a world meant to break them. She is convinced, though, that she cannot break. Young and reckless and naive, she thinks her intangibility will always save her, that because nothing can touch her, nothing can shatter her apart. She does not realize that the heart inside of her chest is made entirely of glass, too. She does not realize that her intangibility cannot protect her against other intangible things — like hurt, heartbreak, and grief.
She does not realize emotional bruises and scars are far more damaging than anything her physical body will withstand.
She does not try to assuage his fears though. She will show him, as she does everyone, that she is not as fragile as she seems.
Her brilliant smile does not dim, but in fact finds a way to brighten at the sight of the star that falls from the sky, her eyes widening in delight as she laughs. “A star!” Her red nose stretches towards the glowing orb of light, but she does not touch it. Instead she dips her head in greeting, her delicate nose nearly touching the galaxy on her chest. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Astrum.” And then her light colored eyes flicker back to his amethyst ones, with her own smile for him when she adds, “And you too, Aureus. My name is Hourglass.”
They stand there, the glowing boy and the girl made of glass, with a star and the fireflies between them.
“This feels like the beginning of a fairy tale,” she says, entirely innocent, still unable to fully grasp the idea of romance. She just knows fairy tales have handsome boys and beautiful girls, magic and stardust and forests full of fireflies and fairies. “Are you a prince?” She teases as she brushes past him, running her glass nose against his shoulder to follow a lone firefly further into the forest.
I don’t believe that anybody
feels the way I do about you now
oh, these wings, they flicker and my feathers stir 'til I'm an ancient soul in a cascade world
He can’t imagine pitying something so beautiful—even if he fears for her. It’s beyond him to think of anything negative about her except how pretty she looks when the light strikes and reflects off of her. The way that the constellations are trapped in the reddish glass of her chest, in her hooves that strike the ground. What he does fear, truly, is himself. All of his own clumsy behaviors come into stark relief as he watches her, as he realizes that there is so much he could do to harm her.
One misstep. One accidental trip.
His nose wrinkles as he realizes just how dangerous he could be to her.
But she doesn’t seem to mind—the thought that he could harm her doesn’t even seem to cross her mind. So he relaxes slightly, muscles loosening, especially as Astrum joins them. The star, however, is not quite as friendly as the girl who greets her. She is haughty in response, her light growing cold and her light retracting until she is much smaller. She spirals away and then comes to rest, nearly curled up on his back.
Aureus frowns and rolls his eyes.
“I’m sorry. She’s not always very social.” Jealous, he knows, and he understands why. They only get the night together. Only a handful of hours. She would have to get used to sharing those hours, he thinks. At least sometimes, and he thinks hard in her direction his displeasure at her cold greeting to the girl.
He pulls his dark gaze back to her, trying to make up for his familiar’s less than enthusiastic greeting. “A fairy tale?” he repeats, the idea charming him and pulling a shadow of a smile out of his serious lips. “I’m no prince though,” there’s a touch of apology in his voice. “Although I’m sure you deserve nothing less than one, Hourglass.” He ignores the part of him that wishes he could have been that for her.
and I'm quick with the bullet when it comes undone I got a head like a turret with a mouth for a gun
She doesn’t seem to notice the way the star grows cold towards her, or at the very least, she isn’t offended by it. She simply watches as the glowing orb twirls away, and her laugh sounds like wind chimes inside her glass mouth. “It’s okay, I suppose not everyone can like me right away.” It hasn’t really occurred to her that anyone would dislike her at all, yet in the face of this new discovery she is seemingly unperturbed. She is too busy chasing fireflies and spinning fairy tales to worry about much else.
She turns back to him, her eyes suddenly alighting with what she thinks is an even better idea. “Or, maybe you’re a knight.” She retraces her steps until she is back in front of him again, the fireflies drifting lazily ahead and not seeming to notice or care that the glass girl that had been shadowing their movements has disappeared. She seems to scrutinize him for a moment, her lilac-colored eyes narrowing as they drift over the broken blaze, the blue-tips of his mane, and his soft glow. It makes her heart flutter inside of her chest, and the feeling is not entirely bad, even if she doesn’t understand what it means or what to do with it.
She notices the almost apologetic way that he speaks, and some of the vibrant on her own face dims, but not in a way that suggests she is disappointed. Reaching forward to bump her smooth nose against his cheek she says softly, “You can pretend to be a prince, or a knight, or anything you want to be.” Pulling away again to fix the light purple of her eyes to the darker of his she adds, “I think at some point we aren’t allowed to pretend anymore, and we have to be whoever we are meant to be.” She doesn’t know what that means, exactly, because she can’t imagine ever knowing who she is supposed to be, but it sounds like something her mother would say. “So I guess that means we should pretend now, right?”
I don’t believe that anybody
feels the way I do about you now
oh, these wings, they flicker and my feathers stir 'til I'm an ancient soul in a cascade world
“I can’t imagine anyone not being completely enamored with you,” he says before he can stop himself, although the vulnerability in the sentence is almost lost on him entirely. For all of his seriousness, for all of his shyness, he is still the son of Pteron and Aegean. He is still the soft boy with the poet’s heart who has grown up watching his fathers so easily discuss matters of the heart. Aegean has taught him from a young age to not fear the truths of the heart and here, with her, he does not shy away from them.
The confession opens his face up, pulling back the shadows slightly, to leave it brighter and kinder, his purple eyes clear in their admiration of the glass girl in front of him. He can feel Astrum burn cold on his back, her displeasure in the entire conversation clear, and he twitches slightly—communicating with her about how much he does not care. She would have to deal with it, he thinks. She just would.
It doesn’t matter though—at least not for long—because she leans forward to touch him and he feels a tightening in his chest at the cool way that she feels against the warmth of his nose. He leans forward to elongate the contact just a moment longer before she pulls away, an instinctual need that he doesn’t fight.
“I can pretend,” he says, certain he would gladly do anything to keep her smiling. “I probably won’t be very good at it, but I can try.” He has no idea how to be a prince, or a knight, or anything but the quiet and studious boy in front of her, but he would gladly embarrass himself thoroughly for the glass girl. “What do you want to be?” he asks, certain there is nothing she could pretend to be lovelier than she is now.
and I'm quick with the bullet when it comes undone I got a head like a turret with a mouth for a gun
Something about the way he says that he cannot imagine not being enamored with her makes her pause. It is the way he says it, so naturally, as if he believes every word that he speaks. It makes her blink her lilac-colored eyes and fix her stare on him; truly on him. Her heart does the strange flutter again, and it almost feels like one of the fireflies she had been chasing was trapped inside of her chest.
She has no way of knowing the kinds of problems her fragile glass heart is going to cause for her.
She swallows that feeling away, and instead laughs and nips him playfully on the shoulder, "It's just because you don't know me very well. Astrum probably has great instincts," she casts the dimmed ball of starlight an amused glance, before looking back at him. "And you can't be bad at pretending. It's impossible. You just pretend you're good."
He asks her what she wants to be, and she pauses thoughtfully. "I'm going to be...a princess. But a knight princess. A princess that sneaks off to be a knight." She nods her head decisively, but she looks at him to see if he's going to argue – searching for that look that says but you're made of glass. "I'm not as fragile as I look," she says, slightly defensive even though he hasn't said anything to imply he thought she was. "I mean, I probably can't fight for real, but...." she trails off with a slight frown, looking down to examine the gleaming red glass of her front leg. She has thought about this a lot, about how she can let objects pass through her, so they don't break her, but, she cannot deliver a blow herself. It was a grim reminder that while she wasn't as fragile as she looked, she was far more vulnerable than she wanted to admit.
I don’t believe that anybody
feels the way I do about you now
oh, these wings, they flicker and my feathers stir 'til I'm an ancient soul in a cascade world
She nips and laughs and it almost makes him feel as though he, too, can relax. He knows that he can’t, but it is such a lovely thought that he lets himself have it for a moment. He lets himself sink into this world where he can pretend that he is good and can pretend that this is forever. Pretend that the star on his back is glowing warm with friendship and that his heart is not scrambling for walls and shields against this.
His smile is cautious, hesitant, but does not flee from his lips immediately.
“I will pretend I am the best,” he affirms, although his voice is not confident. He will though, he thinks. If she wants to play pretend, then he will gladly do it for her.
He listens quietly as she continues and it does not occur to him to think that she could not be anything that she wanted to be. Even if his heart clutched in his chest and the thought of her getting hurt took his breath away, it never occurred to him to think she couldn’t do it. He could imagine the look of disappointment on his fathers’ faces if he ever heard that kind of thought pouring from his lips.
“I think you can fight,” he says quietly, tilting his slender head, “although I’m not sure you would ever truly want to.” It sounds terrible, he thinks, to take a life, to cause pain. He knows Pteron was made to be a warrior, but he feels like he’s not inherited that piece. He is more like Aegean in this regard—too soft.
“But if you’re a knight princess then I will gladly be your squire.” His lips tilt up at the notion, at the idea of something so otherworldly and noble settling into his bones. “I think that I could do that well.”
and I'm quick with the bullet when it comes undone I got a head like a turret with a mouth for a gun
“I would fight if I had to,” she tells him confidently. She pauses for a moment, thinking about it. She touches her glass mouth to the smoothness of her own glass chest, right where the stars spiral across it. She can feel her breath against it there, can see the way the warmth of her exhale causes the surface to fog, and she feels her heart sink. “I mean...I would if I could.”
Her previous excitement for games dims a little, and she pauses to look at him.
She is often so wrapped up in her own imagination and fantasies that sometimes it takes her a moment too long to recognize the emotions in someone else. When she slows just long enough, though, she realizes the smile on his face is hesitant, and his voice apprehensive. She tilts her gleaming head, a shadow of concern clouding her vibrant eyes, but she does not say anything yet. Instead, she lightly nudges his shoulder before brushing against him to head down a winding path, “Well then come on, squire, let’s go slay a dragon or something.”
Picking her way deftly across the leaf-strewn ground, and avoiding the lower limbs that reached to scratch against the glass surface of her skin, she looks over at him. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?” Without waiting for him to answer, she says, “I have a twin sister. She’s made of glass, too.”
I don’t believe that anybody
feels the way I do about you now
