Her parents are leaving, drifting farther and farther away from the little island she stands on, and silently she begs—pleads—for them not to go. But still the barrier swells, cerulean tides rushing to add to the distance, pushing them away until she feels their presence slowly fading. Desperately, Tiamat reaches out as though she could cross the distance that grows between them, satin nostrils flaring and white eyes shining with the tears that linger on her cheeks. Please, she beseeches of them, her heart beating hard and fast as though it could leap from her chest (perhaps it would be better then), and her sides quiver with trembling breaths, don’t leave me.
The sky darkens, and with it, her mother’s voice as it drifts across her father’s roiling expanse. Rain begins to trickle from her sister clouds as they suddenly rush above her, and for once, the ocean mare doesn’t throw her head back and bask happily in their cold, dribbling shower. It’s so hard growing up sometimes, her heart cries out, unwilling to accept the finality of her mother’s words, I don’t want to move on. Why must she move on? How is she moving on? Already emotionally frayed, Tiamat feels weak with the thought, terrified of being alone and grasping desperately at something she truly never had.
She doesn’t want to have to be without them.
Through her tearful gaze, the young mare watches her parents drift away, their retreat slow but all too quick. Her mother calls out, making promises that already seem to be broken as the tide pulls them deeper into the heart of the water, cut off with a bolt of lightning that sparks and cracks through the very matter of their beings. ‘But what?!’ Tiamat wants to cry out to her mother, to uncover the contradiction of their devotion and their presence, but the plea dies suddenly before it has a chance to leave her lips.
Tiamat doesn’t want to understand their excuses or their contradictions—knowing that her parents love her, care for her, and watch over her is too pure a knowledge to taint with darker uncertainties. Even as she feels her body—suddenly so fragile and ragged—threatening to give way beneath her, she readily accepts their love, clinging to it with skinny, weak fingers and half-hearted stubbornness.
The young mare sways unsteadily on her hooves, stumbling a step forward before the shores stop her, their frothy lips holding her back and leaving her to gaze forlornly out across the horizon. “I don’t understand, Mama,” she breathes anxiously, fighting the sobs that linger in her throat, thrashing with the pain and guilt that continue to writhe within her, “what else is there to remember?” Somehow she knows that she will not receive an answer—even in this strange place, held between wakefulness and dreams, she knows their omnipotence, far too mighty for her fragile, childlike mind to comprehend.
She just doesn’t want to be alone—she can’t be alone. Not now.
Whether it is the cracking of her heart or the almighty power of her parents, the island suddenly meets the ocean and together they thrust upwards to the sky, thrashing and twisting in an ethereal display of the chaos that shatters through her chest. Tiamat is forced backwards, stumbling until she falls unceremoniously to her knees. The wind is fierce as it whips against her body and through her hair, and for a moment all she can hear are the blustery gales and the chiming of her shells, until—from somewhere—her mother’s voice pierces into her mind, clear and ringing like the bird’s song in the new light of day.
“They are lying, Tiamat — You need us.”
“I do,” she says, allowing her body to finally fall into the sands, looking up and squinting her eyes against the storm, trying to catch a final glimpse of the parents she loves so dearly, “I know I do.” And just as the last sound of her words fade from her tongue, everything vanishes. The water, the storm, the island, her parents—it is all gone, leaving only a pristine, quiet whiteness behind that feels so empty. Teary eyes glance around forlornly, a shuddering breath quivering from her lungs before she closes her eyes, holding them in a long blink and whispering one final, desperate promise, “I love you.”
And suddenly, he is there—gasping, struggling, faltering. “Ashamin—?” Tiamat cries, catching only the panic and hollowness in his eyes, her name shrieking from his throat and echoing in her ears before it all is consumed in blackness.
notes; I can say the same for you, Jen! Thank you so much, I've really enjoyed this:)
“Speech.”
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