Syrine watches the horns shift and disappear, and though she tries not to stare it is odd when they dissolve like rain down the sides of the mare’s dark, delicate face. She inhales as if she is about to ask something, brow furrowed beneath her forelock, but then she isn’t sure what it is she wants to ask, or if the answer is something she would rather not know. Is this a deep magic? Is it something that corrupts, something like what was used to carve these scars into the stormy grey of Syrine’s back?
But there’s a look of surprise on the bay mare’s face, and in the way her gaze drops to study her own legs, and Syrine finds that her questions have fallen away from her lips and there is only quiet inside her chest. Maybe it is the glow that rises to the surface of this new acquaintance, the way she is suddenly cloaked in something like gentle sunshine, but Syrine feels more at ease when those unfamiliar brown eyes rise again to find her with a smile as soft as the glow that illuminates them both.
Elodie is a beautiful name.
She might’ve said so, too, but the quiet is something that comes to her more easily than vulnerable truths.
But Elodie is softer than Syrine has ever been allowed to be, and her truths are something she shares so easily, something that thaws the wary ice inside Syrine’s own chest. Might she have been like this girl once? In another world, another time, another place. In a home without shackles, in a skin without scars. Maybe. But Elodie is gentle smiles and easy warmth, she is shy sunshine breaking through the clouds on a hazy morning, and Syrine thinks she could have never been anything so good.
“I’m sorry about your mother.” She says after a moment, and her blue eyes find Elodie’s for only a moment before flitting away again not unlike a wounded bird. “Do you know why she went?” Not where, because of course if Elodie knew that she would likely be there too, and anyway why is what matters more. Why holds the secrets of where, holds the truth of whether or not someone would want to be found again. Syrine knows that not everything that disappears wants to be found again.
It is foolish, of course, but she hadn’t expected Elodie to turn her own question back on her, wasn’t expecting to explain about alone. So she is too quiet while she watches those kind brown eyes wander up to the cloud raining down over only Syrine, quiet when no question comes about it, quiet long after she should have given some kind of an answer. But her chest is knots that she does not know how to unravel, and at the center of it is a heart that is only just barely beating.
“I,” a pause, and her gaze wanders up to a sky she still wishes were home to the constellations she had come to know so well, “Yes?” She doesn’t mean to say the word like a question, but it certainly falls from her like one, something glass and entirely fragile tipped over the precipice. “Longer would have been better though.”
But there’s a look of surprise on the bay mare’s face, and in the way her gaze drops to study her own legs, and Syrine finds that her questions have fallen away from her lips and there is only quiet inside her chest. Maybe it is the glow that rises to the surface of this new acquaintance, the way she is suddenly cloaked in something like gentle sunshine, but Syrine feels more at ease when those unfamiliar brown eyes rise again to find her with a smile as soft as the glow that illuminates them both.
Elodie is a beautiful name.
She might’ve said so, too, but the quiet is something that comes to her more easily than vulnerable truths.
But Elodie is softer than Syrine has ever been allowed to be, and her truths are something she shares so easily, something that thaws the wary ice inside Syrine’s own chest. Might she have been like this girl once? In another world, another time, another place. In a home without shackles, in a skin without scars. Maybe. But Elodie is gentle smiles and easy warmth, she is shy sunshine breaking through the clouds on a hazy morning, and Syrine thinks she could have never been anything so good.
“I’m sorry about your mother.” She says after a moment, and her blue eyes find Elodie’s for only a moment before flitting away again not unlike a wounded bird. “Do you know why she went?” Not where, because of course if Elodie knew that she would likely be there too, and anyway why is what matters more. Why holds the secrets of where, holds the truth of whether or not someone would want to be found again. Syrine knows that not everything that disappears wants to be found again.
It is foolish, of course, but she hadn’t expected Elodie to turn her own question back on her, wasn’t expecting to explain about alone. So she is too quiet while she watches those kind brown eyes wander up to the cloud raining down over only Syrine, quiet when no question comes about it, quiet long after she should have given some kind of an answer. But her chest is knots that she does not know how to unravel, and at the center of it is a heart that is only just barely beating.
“I,” a pause, and her gaze wanders up to a sky she still wishes were home to the constellations she had come to know so well, “Yes?” She doesn’t mean to say the word like a question, but it certainly falls from her like one, something glass and entirely fragile tipped over the precipice. “Longer would have been better though.”
syrine
with a whisper, we will tame the vicious seas
like a feather, bringing kingdoms to their knees
@[elodie] i'm pretending she still has her raincloud so i don't have to pick her mimicries yet lmao