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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "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


    and all the lives we ever lived and all the lives to be -- Renfri
    #1
    .
    As her relationship to time and space (the latter in particular) becomes more appreciable in its clarity and finesse, it at the very same time seems to steer off into the inexplicability from whence she came. For as often as she speeds up time to get to her next favourite part of the very next day, she as often slows time down to a crawl, a twitch, a full stop, to enjoy the exact moment in which she finds herself. And, for all that, the events which exist in one hemisphere of her enjoyment always find themselves in the other! To chart her temporal decisions would be quite a circular matter, indeed.

    So, when she decides to sleep through the night in a genuine appreciation of the present without a single thought given to the possibility of time manipulation at all, Lillia feels no sense of cognitive dissonance. In fact, the opposite! As she closes her eyes to the hazy dreams of the nothingness which came before her materialization, she embraces peace in the perfect sense, content in the arms of time as it lullabies her to sleep.

    Beneath a willow tree near the diminutive banks of the diminutive creek in the broad expanse of the meadow, then, the diminutive angel sleeps; the long-grasses which reach the bellies of full grown horses swallow her in her entirety, bending their blades like caressing arms to soothe her and therefore obscure her from the outside world and, as a consequence, of it from her. She thinks little of this detail until she awakens and thinks, still with her unshakeable pleasantness and blank-voiced acceptance of the present, of nothing else.

    "Excuse me," she says in a voice devoid of alarm and tingling with gentleness -- and though she opens her mouth to say more, she finds there nothing more to say, and so she instead nuzzles her head between the blades of grass to look up at the dark-bodied figure of the one standing atop her, a bemused if somewhat empty (in a hopeful, understanding kind of way) smile colouring the cherub pink of her lips.

    For indeed, this stranger stands unbeknownst to them (until now, of course) with one hoof lodged exactly on Lillia's sleep-extended wing, nestled there in the long-grass, sending arcs of pain into the many bones composing that delicate appendage.
    Lillia


    @[renfri]
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