you're the beacon / any

[wound]

I t’s a sight she’s grown used to — the melodies of the forest humming just outside the cavern before growing quiet as a shadow appears to block the light from her cavern and also block the hope from her thoughts. There’s a weight in her chest that doesn’t come from her child’s presence. It keeps her awake at night, pressing on her lungs in a way that makes her feel like she is drowning. Although this is the feeling that frequently plagues her, often Wound will feel weightless. These are the days she much prefers — when their stinging words and laughter over her pain fade away into a hazy-white background and she can feel her thoughts separate from her body so she can float above the world, lost in the clouds and pale blue of the sky. When the boy approaches, her chest feels thick and heavy. Wound turns her petite head in his direction and there’s almost a smile (as delirious as it might be) on her lips. The sunlight seems to filter through his gangly body, producing a hazy shadow where a fully-present one would normally be, and highlighting the lighter shades of color in his growing mane. Yet she cannot help but worry at his age; he is much too young to be exposed to the whims of such evil creatures, in her mothering mind. Although she is broken, she is strong. Her voice is a rough croak when she speaks, grating from her countless hours of screaming. “Your mother lets you live here?” Wound cannot imagine sending Wishbone (or even the bastard child growing within her now) to this vile place and her heart aches for the boy. “What’s your name?” She is wary of him (they have reawakened the anxieties her brothers had instilled originally, thoughts of strangers and dangers and unspoken plotting) but her words are gentle and warm… The voice of a mother.

credit to nat of adoxography.

@[Rajanish]