Tiamat

like the ocean kissed the sky

There is silence between them for a moment. The ocean mare’s chiming laughter slowly fades into the freshness of day, her eyes shining blissfully beneath the light of the sun, and the genuine smile still lingers along the gentle curve of her lips. She is the light to his darkness, the heaven to his hell, the angel to his demon, and all other manner of metaphorical comparisons, the contrasts that highlight the differences between these two creatures. But she does not see that—not now, perhaps not ever. Her light is far too bright, too wonderful, too infectious to be pierced by his solemn shadows. Eagerly she invites him, silent and subconscious in her incitement. After all, she knows nothing else.

She takes note of his even stare—hollow, harrowed, and hurting—but it isn’t until the black stallion reaches out that Tiamat’s smile gradually begins to fade. His breath is nearly cold against the warmth of her skin, chilling and she nearly flinches in her surprise (an action that is quickly remedied by the concern that swells within her, blooming from her chest and reaching out as her lips graze his face). Her worry for him is honest and unmasked, glistening in the paleness of her eyes and the soft creasing of her brow. It is obvious that something is not right, that there is something that bothers him, but the ocean mare could not possibly begin to fathom what it is.

Watching him, the ocean mare catches sight of the lone tear that slips from his eyes, its trail glistening faintly beneath the sun’s light as it falls down his cheek. “Nox?” She speaks his name in quiet earnest, concerned for him, wondering what could have possibly brought him to this mournful state (she realizes his sorrow now)—so different from when they had first met. The stallion doesn’t pause in speaking. His low voice is rougher than it usually is, broken and pained, sending a chill down her spine despite the warmth that her mother sends down to her. The tears continue, more abundant now, a steady and unceremonious stream that spills gently across the lines of his face.

Reaching out to him, Tiamat brushes them off his cheek with her velvet muzzle, not acknowledging the tears with words (because, somehow, she knows that she must spare his pride, even if she would never think less of him for his expression of emotions). Resting in the grass next to him, she doesn’t say anything at first. Silence begins to settle between them again, her mind loud enough to occupy herself for now, mulling over what he has spoken. She doesn’t understand the things that he admits, doesn’t understand why anyone would wish to be in—h-e-l-l—rather than walking the earth, especially in the fullness of Birdsong, when the land is thriving with growth and beauty. Why would anyone wish death? What horrible things could be done to bring such condemnation? Surely, because she cannot believe him to be so vicious, he needn’t be so cruel to himself.

“Nox…” she says his name again, her sides heaving as she forces out a heavy breath from her nostrils, pursing her lips before continuing. “Why do you say these things?” These things that he has said are not nice things, and they even scare her a little bit—as dark and foreboding as they are. Her white eyes are wide and doe-like as she looks to him, confusion in her eyes—but also hope, faith that he is—and always will be—an honest and worthy person.

“You’ve been nothing but a good friend to me—if there’s anything I can do…” Tiamat trails off, a smile beginning to curve her lips again, a silent but promising assurance. She would do anything to reassure him that this life is not a punishment to be endured—but a gift. She feels privileged to have air in her lungs and life in her breast, to have a heart beating against her ribs and eyes to see the beauty around her—to have him as a friend. If only he could understand that as she does. Her brow creases as she ponders, taking a shaky breath while thinking about the darkness he seeks to sentence for himself. “I don’t understand,” her voice is barely above a whisper, spoken slowly, her gaze skirting the grass before trailing back to his face.


“Speech.”