but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams

To think, that once he would've liked to tear the wings from her shoulders. Envy is a powerful thing, dark and brooding, a slow, crippling poison—envy coupled with fear even more so. It was, he figured, what brought nations to ruin, and families to war.

Back then, he had been afraid, and not of hollow bones or feathers—no.

He had been afraid of himself. Of what lay deep within his frozen soul, buried in hundreds of feet of snow and ice.

Now, he simply knew it for what it was—bittersweet envy, and a dream too painful to dare to touch. Because what in this world could be more cruel, more hope-shattering, than a deep, profound desire of something you could never achieve? Something you could never feel? Something you longed for so much it made your heart ache?

Wanting to fly was like wishing the beloved dead to rise.

So, he hid those dreams still, let them lay asleep in tombs of ice and marble—but where they had been forgotten before they now had carefully engraved headstones, lovingly labeled and sometimes dusted off.

But still, they were hopeless dreams, broken thoughts, barely-acknowledged realizations and longings. Painful. Distant.

Hardly worth ripping out wings over.

Had to be stupid in your youth, though. How else would you grow wise?

The lens through which he saw the world was much different now—and it saddened him that so much of his existence had been reduced to a comparison between now and then, like it could somehow explain things and give him purpose again. It was no wonder he was so down, so lost, when now simply became another then, a yesterday, a day before yesterday, until it would be years past.

For Mauja, there was no today.

"She's beautiful. Mama has an owl, too. He's much smaller, though." People tended to call Irma beautiful, look to her for some sign of affection, appreciation, thankfulness for their kind words and kind attitude—but Irma was a stone cold beast, with a heart as frigid as her eyes. Yet to deny the girl's words would be stupid. The palest white of winter coupled with the deep, metallic blue of Spark (he supposed; he'd never asked the God if he was behind it) spread out across her back.. she was beautiful, and deadly, and all the more beautiful for it. "Oh," he simply said, though part of him wanted to flip his forelock and fire off a brash grin and say you should see my other one, he's even bigger. "What kind of owl is he?" Maybe his would've seen it around. Maybe, they already knew he was a bondmate to someone, and let him be for that reason.

Then.. she came closer, leaving her passionflowers behind to wilt without her presence. His gaze drifted down to them, to their struggle for a life they would not have, devoid of sun and summer warmth—brief, beautiful, and gone just like that. Where she stepped, they rose, and when she passed, they died. It was cruel.

Mauja had always been composed out of small signs, the bat of an eye, a slight smile, the twitch of his tail—never one to scream, never one to cry.. and when the darkness was kept at bay, that was still true. Fragile warmth nestled in his eyes as he watched the girl approach, wondering what about him that drew them in. Myrrine had shown much of the same hesitant fascination. And then, she paused when he replied, before mirroring his answer back at him.. and mentioning exploring.

The small smile on his lips turned bitter and curved.

"Would you like to walk with me?" she asked.
Explore, he thought, something dull ticking in the back of his head. Explore, maybe her as much as the world; him, as much as the world.

"Of course," he responded, drifting into motion, silent as the snowflakes.

[ @Naerys -- he's not giving much yet but :x hopefully it'll come in the next couple of posts! ]

man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same