miles below the surface of the dawn; eucharist

[caledonia]

there's a voice that pulls me stumbling through a symphony
and the less of it I need, the more I get

Caledonia does not often wander away from her home. Partially because she is simply not the kind to truly want to find herself in strange situations and partially because it was difficult to travel when you couldn’t see. It leaves her withdrawn and more content to trace the patterns that she has learned throughout Pangea—following the paths that she has known for so long. But today she walks a different path, her heart pounding in her thin chest and her wings fluffing uselessly at her sides.

Perhaps it was the dream she had last night—the one that left her breathless when she awoke. Perhaps it was knowing that her sister was off having the kind of grand adventures that she only dreamed about and then shoved away as far as possible, terrified of the implications of actually following through.

Perhaps it was simply that she was day dreaming and lost her way.

Regardless, she soon realizes that the hard of Pangea has begun to fade away and the ground beneath her has begun to soften. She feels the light brush of grass and startles but does not jump far away, too unsure about her surroundings to move quickly. She exhales, nostrils flaring as she reaches down to brush her nose against the vegetation and smiles when she finds flowers instead, the scent intoxicating. There was nothing like this in her home—nothing so lush, so beautiful—and her heart warms immediately.

Smiling to herself, she brings her head back up, milky eyes unseeing as she focuses instead on the foreign smells, the meadow unfolding before her in all of its glory. The wind picks up, ruffling the still upright brush of her mane and her white wings flare once more before folding over her back. She has no idea why she has been gifted such wonderful things to only be kept grounded, but she is sure there is a reason.

There is always a reason, she thinks.

At least, that’s what her father whispers to her before she falls asleep.

’til I'm swept up by the shape of all the centuries
like an echo in the chambers of my chest

@[eucharist]