forever young, i want to be forever young
There's a time for everything. It's the first thing that Potion notices, the first thing she remembers with her young and developing mind. The first constant, the first everlasting thing, the first but not the last- but she still doesn't know that. It's a first but it is not the first, there are others. The usual of course, like the sound of her Mother's and Father's voices, her beating heart, the crash of waves against cliffs and birds calling overhead. Not those things that seem to be ingrained within her very being, but things that she doesn't experience until she's born. The world is so much bigger than she would have ever guessed and it is filled with many wonderful and exciting things. What she likes most about that is that there is always another day for more.
The sun. It always brings the morning, every day and it never stops. Not ever, not even when the clouds roll over the sky and blot out it's light. It's not gone, not really Mother says, it's just hidden- tucked away for later. In the morning the birds sing, somehow they too know when that great ball of light will slip over the horizon.
The moon, that too brings something but it is called night- and it is beautiful. It's filled with a silver glow, painted against a million grains of sand, glittering like a beach made of stars. It brings sleep for some and still for others it brings hushed whispers and embraces. It brings the wolves lament as they cry to the sky, calling to it like a shunned lover who makes promises they can never keep.
Today the passing of time has brought her something else, fog. A creeping, heavy blanket that sways over the waters and crags. It too takes the light from the sun, veiling it with a grey film that leaves the edges blurred and haunting. It's still as well, so very quiet as though the fog has shooed the life from the Cove to make way for its suffocating presence.
Potion stands with her back to the cliffs, her thin legs finding footing among the smooth obsidian shards of rockface that have been worn by years of sea water.
The sun. It always brings the morning, every day and it never stops. Not ever, not even when the clouds roll over the sky and blot out it's light. It's not gone, not really Mother says, it's just hidden- tucked away for later. In the morning the birds sing, somehow they too know when that great ball of light will slip over the horizon.
The moon, that too brings something but it is called night- and it is beautiful. It's filled with a silver glow, painted against a million grains of sand, glittering like a beach made of stars. It brings sleep for some and still for others it brings hushed whispers and embraces. It brings the wolves lament as they cry to the sky, calling to it like a shunned lover who makes promises they can never keep.
Today the passing of time has brought her something else, fog. A creeping, heavy blanket that sways over the waters and crags. It too takes the light from the sun, veiling it with a grey film that leaves the edges blurred and haunting. It's still as well, so very quiet as though the fog has shooed the life from the Cove to make way for its suffocating presence.
Potion stands with her back to the cliffs, her thin legs finding footing among the smooth obsidian shards of rockface that have been worn by years of sea water.
Potion
Kirin x Nicia
