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10-22-2016, 09:27 PM
ultima
There it was. Faster than she thought it’d come, too; she would’ve liked to pretend, for just a few moments longer, that nothing had changed. Oh, don’t, she would’ve liked to say – oh, let’s talk about the weather! The night had been so still for the majority of her return flight, nothing but her pensive white form flitting through the low-hanging clouds, the moon like an old halo overhead; in her heart the rain slicking off the canopy was prime conversation, and her expression took on a strange light with the wanting. But he had asked, and because she loved him she was compelled to answer: “Where did you go?”
And by every tree in her Wood, she would’ve liked to tell him about it, jigging up and down like a child, her voice a force of joy and the thrill of discovery, and there was the lake, and there were aspen leaves, and then they went soaring through the air in whirls and whorls and I, I could not contain myself— How there was nothing quite like her footsteps across the water as she climbed higher into the sky, heart pounding because if she fell, no one would know, no one would catch her. The trees like miniatures underfoot, the earth laid bare like slicks of oil painting. “It was beautiful,” she wanted to say, to tell the story, to begin, again:
“It was a wind,” her eyes wide with wonder and mischief, enthralled by her own fairytale, “Found only in dreams.” (And it took me far from you. And it will take me farther still.)
But he had not asked about the wind.
“I went to the Falls,” she said, her eyes averted to some place suspended in the darkness past his cheek. Not timid. “It was grand.” Not so much subdued. “They’re rebuilding.” Careful, more careful than she ever was when she spoke, and if she had recognized how very much like Minerva she had been in that moment (spine straight and resolute, face sober and terribly adult), she might have fallen with surprise. As it was, she felt like she was dangling high off the ground, at the end of the bedsheets she’d strung together and lashed to her bedpost.
This was a great escape, she told herself. She was stealing her own heart and disappearing into some blinding white sunset in order to become. (Become what? And if this was an escape, then who was she running from? Why? To what end, and oh, sweet thing.)
She inhaled twice, the first shallow. The second was deep, though, and it filled her lungs with the Edge.
“Have you ever been there?”
And by every tree in her Wood, she would’ve liked to tell him about it, jigging up and down like a child, her voice a force of joy and the thrill of discovery, and there was the lake, and there were aspen leaves, and then they went soaring through the air in whirls and whorls and I, I could not contain myself— How there was nothing quite like her footsteps across the water as she climbed higher into the sky, heart pounding because if she fell, no one would know, no one would catch her. The trees like miniatures underfoot, the earth laid bare like slicks of oil painting. “It was beautiful,” she wanted to say, to tell the story, to begin, again:
“It was a wind,” her eyes wide with wonder and mischief, enthralled by her own fairytale, “Found only in dreams.” (And it took me far from you. And it will take me farther still.)
But he had not asked about the wind.
“I went to the Falls,” she said, her eyes averted to some place suspended in the darkness past his cheek. Not timid. “It was grand.” Not so much subdued. “They’re rebuilding.” Careful, more careful than she ever was when she spoke, and if she had recognized how very much like Minerva she had been in that moment (spine straight and resolute, face sober and terribly adult), she might have fallen with surprise. As it was, she felt like she was dangling high off the ground, at the end of the bedsheets she’d strung together and lashed to her bedpost.
This was a great escape, she told herself. She was stealing her own heart and disappearing into some blinding white sunset in order to become. (Become what? And if this was an escape, then who was she running from? Why? To what end, and oh, sweet thing.)
She inhaled twice, the first shallow. The second was deep, though, and it filled her lungs with the Edge.
“Have you ever been there?”
command me to be well.
@tilney rip rip rip rirprRIRIERIRPRPRIRIRPRPP
 | please tag ultima in all posts! force/magic a-ok, shy of killing/maiming her! |
