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  • Beqanna


    None -- Year 218


    "He watches her, noticing first the way she moves beneath moonlight, and he is reminded of a time before magic ran rampant as it does now. How back then there were some that simply seemed to be magic without actually having it, the kind that could capture your attention and keep it." --Eadoin, written by Colby

    [private]  lilac wine
    omewhere the sun is waiting to rise.

    Somehow the night is holding on a little longer.

    Elliana. Welcome to the world. Her father had told her. It is one of her earliest memories. And then he held her, held her in a way her mother never could, that no one every could. The way a father holds his daughter. He has been the only father she has ever known, she had never questioned her place in the world when she was able to snuggle closely beside her parents.

    It feels so different, she feels so far from this. When did it become so easy to swallow down her heart, to swallow down the sea that tries to rise again and again in her throat like she is the shore telling the waves not today? When did it become this hard to breathe without blowing fire, to wrap a noose around the neck of this thing she’s become that knows only how to rage like a dragon burning down a mountain pass?

    When did she lose that part of herself that Aeneas had found and sparked a million fireflies in a secret meadow?

    She knows she should be trying to get it back. Elliana knows this. She should look at the beauty of the flowers, and not criticizing its lack of strength. She knows she should be lifting her eyes to the morning and thinking of it as a promise instead of a curse.

    She should do a million things — but she does none of them.

    Last night she had dreamed of the sea beneath a broad moon. The night before she had dreamed of flowers growing in all the places they shouldnt, that they couldnt. Tonight, in the hour right before the settling of dawn, she had dreamed of monsters.

    Elliana walks next to the river. She had taken a detour traveling from Nerine to the Brilliant Pampas. When Elliana had first come to Beqanna (just before the walls of Dusk closed in on her so tightly should could not breahte)she had smelled of marsh and a redwood forest It had clung to her skin like a memory, an omen. Now, there is something in the sunny scent of her skin, and the dust that crawls up her ankles that tells a story of girl who wanders, and wanders, and wanders. She smells like wildflowers and she smells like cliffs and a sea breeze.

    She stands between two wispy trees and smiles.
    It had turned into quite the dawn.

    She speaks like this.
    some are ghosts before they are dead.
    « r » | insane

    This is always the strangest, longest part of the night. The moments right before the sun peaks her first rays beyond the horizon. The interminable moments before Azure will be released from her prison of glowing bone. It’s not so terrible, this fate. She does not hunger, nor does she recognize pain. But some nights she cannot seem to help but long for touch she cannot possibly feel. Just once, it might be nice to know the sensation of sweetly perfumed night air against her skin.

    It does little good to dream of things that will never be, yet still she dreams. She cannot seem to help herself.

    There is peace in the tumbling murmur of the river. She often finds herself here in the smallest hours of the morning - the hours she finds herself most in need of peace. This morning is no different from those others. Sometimes, she watches the sun crest the horizon in the unreachable distance. Others, she merely waits to draw that first, sweet breath of a cool dawn.

    Today though, she finds herself staring at another. A girl as lost in fantasy as she so often is. For a moment, she merely wonders what it is she dreams. It’s a foolish musing, for she cannot read minds. Still, she is ever the fanciful girl, imagining things that can never be.

    Though a heart does not yet beat in the bone cage of her chest, it compels her forward. Towards this stranger who swells with fanciful yearnings that seem to match her own (or perhaps it is merely her own fanciful yearning that makes her imagine such things in a stranger). If she had lips to do so, they would have been smiling. Instead, there is only the perpetual grin of a bare skull to greet the moon-marked woman. In a moment, when the first rays of dawn strike across the horizon, that smile would be there in truth. For now, she can only portray it in the friendly lilt of her greeting.

    “This place is beautiful at this hour, is it not?”


    you take the shape of everything I'm drawn to

    Elliana [insert "it's been 84 years" gif here]

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