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09-06-2014, 06:52 PM
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Night, its black fingers creeping through the corners of the world, choking the earth with shadow silks. Behold, in the sky, the full moon rising with golden luminosity, telling of the season. The chill in the air rushes through my feathers, through the long, magically untangled mass of silver hair sprouting from my neck and weaving down my face. My solid, bronze hooves brush the wilting grounds softly, restoring the breath of spring as I pass. So, I am the Son of the Earth. Maybe I am crazy, the past few days being nothing more than a grand delusion built upon the insane workings of my shattered mind. I would certainly almost prefer this to be true, than welcome in the evil that my gentle father whispered of with foreboding eyes. What sort of world had I returned to from the endless sea of darkness? I ache to return to the abyss, to the lack of thought, light, life. I seek the dead serenity of the darkness, for it was simpler there, if not crushing to my mind and myself. I suppose there are realities that simply cannot be avoided, and mine is such. I may not remember who I am, my former life, but I can feel the pulse of a strong heart in my chest. I feel the tug of purpose. I feel the need to aid this realm, Helovia, find solace in the times of darkness ahead. The flashes of familiar faces behind my eyelids certainly aid in this. My sister, Ranjiri, was the only one I could remember for now. I know there are others. Cold, crimson eyes softening as they turn to me, warm smiles on darkened mugs. Glowing golden symbols on a sea of dark canvas, splotches of white. A small boy dipped in sunlight and a firm disposition. Who are they? What are they to me? I cannot recall. The stars above sing their lonely songs, the wind dancing among tree branches, the dapples of moonlight peaking through trees to paint my pelt like the sky above. I hear nothing in the forest, no life that would speak to me other than the earth. Despite the waning strength of summer giving into his cold brother, the heart of the earth beats strong. I follow the pulse, much like I had on the floating island not far from here, as it is leading me somewhere. Leading me to something I had lost, perhaps, or maybe to someone who would have me found. I almost do not see it, the Ancient Rotunda glowing in the meadow like a beacon, for it is unfamiliar. The cascading colors of the glass are dimmed under moonlight, yet distinguishable under this full moon. They glitter along the floor of the strange structure, painting it like a field of spring flowers at night. The vines grow around the pillars gently, strong legs to hold what must have been a magnificent beauty in its prime. While I am not sure how old this strange thing is, the stones speak of many rains, despite being more of less in perfect shape. I walk closer, almost turning to circle around the great, magnificent beauty, until I hear a faint chirp. A cricket, I assume at first, ear flicking in its directly. However, the chord rings out again, more insistently, almost like the nattering of an angry child. Then a melody plays, warm and welcoming, and recognition spawns somewhere in my lifeless memories. A harp. I used to own a harp. Out of the vines, the weeds, the grass, out flies the white birchwood, emerald encrusted beauty of my memories, music soaring from its strings insistently. The beckon to me, trying to draw upon the flickers of my mind, draw out the one they called Hototo. "Hello, old friend," I say to the curious harp. I smile, though the emotion does not touch my heart. I am saddened more to see this relic of my former self. Another shadow in the night, reminding me that while I may be the son of the earth, I am still lost. Songs, crying out in the dark, seeking a way home. [ Open for anyone. ] |
