09-11-2022, 11:35 PM
Raea
It feels wrong to be here in the ruins.
She thinks she can still feel the thunder of war pulsing beneath the surface and the echo of cries carried on the howling wind, and she wonders if they—Beqanna—can feel and hear it too. She wonders if they have any idea the blood that has been shed here, if they have any idea the lives lost and the battles won. Raea does her best to push the thoughts aside as she walks the shoreline, because she hates where her mind takes her whenever she thinks of Baltia and Stratos fighting; the way she finds herself wondering which side she should be on.
She thinks of her father, and his stern face but kind eyes (eyes like hers, shark-black and cut with silver), and the way he would sometimes try to not laugh at the things she or her mother said.
Her mother, with her feather-soft laugh and colored like the dawn, lover of the stars and the peace to her father’s war.
They had found love in each other despite their differences, but it never escaped Raea that they did not actually choose each other over their homelands; not really. On their island sanctuary they did not speak of Baltia or Stratos—at least, not in front of the other. In private, though, her father would tell her stories from the battlefield, all the while seeming to forget that the enemy he spoke of is where Raea inherited her dawn-colored feathers and the faint breeze that always seemed to shift around her. Her mother was not innocent in this either, using their evening walks as a chance to teach Raea of the celestial gods and goddesses Stratos so adored, and always finding ways to subtly paint Stratos in a more agreeable light—reminding her that the rest of Baltia is not like her father, and that they cannot be trusted.
It’s why when she sees him she comes to an immediate stop, though for a moment her heart betrays her and skips an excited beat, and relief floods her bones at the sight of someone like her in this land full of strangers and unfamiliar history.
Almost like her, she silently corrects herself, and she can feel an uneasy heat rise to her cheeks even though he would never know the error in her thoughts.
A breeze ruffles the pastel-colored feathers that cascade down her neck, and she is reminded that besides her eyes and the water wings that glisten at her sides, she looks more like an enemy to him than a friend.
She thinks she can still feel the thunder of war pulsing beneath the surface and the echo of cries carried on the howling wind, and she wonders if they—Beqanna—can feel and hear it too. She wonders if they have any idea the blood that has been shed here, if they have any idea the lives lost and the battles won. Raea does her best to push the thoughts aside as she walks the shoreline, because she hates where her mind takes her whenever she thinks of Baltia and Stratos fighting; the way she finds herself wondering which side she should be on.
She thinks of her father, and his stern face but kind eyes (eyes like hers, shark-black and cut with silver), and the way he would sometimes try to not laugh at the things she or her mother said.
Her mother, with her feather-soft laugh and colored like the dawn, lover of the stars and the peace to her father’s war.
They had found love in each other despite their differences, but it never escaped Raea that they did not actually choose each other over their homelands; not really. On their island sanctuary they did not speak of Baltia or Stratos—at least, not in front of the other. In private, though, her father would tell her stories from the battlefield, all the while seeming to forget that the enemy he spoke of is where Raea inherited her dawn-colored feathers and the faint breeze that always seemed to shift around her. Her mother was not innocent in this either, using their evening walks as a chance to teach Raea of the celestial gods and goddesses Stratos so adored, and always finding ways to subtly paint Stratos in a more agreeable light—reminding her that the rest of Baltia is not like her father, and that they cannot be trusted.
It’s why when she sees him she comes to an immediate stop, though for a moment her heart betrays her and skips an excited beat, and relief floods her bones at the sight of someone like her in this land full of strangers and unfamiliar history.
Almost like her, she silently corrects herself, and she can feel an uneasy heat rise to her cheeks even though he would never know the error in her thoughts.
A breeze ruffles the pastel-colored feathers that cascade down her neck, and she is reminded that besides her eyes and the water wings that glisten at her sides, she looks more like an enemy to him than a friend.
— i’ll kidnap all the stars and i will keep them in your eyes —