macaria

palest shadow; darkest light

Orangemoon was upon them. She can feel it. She's not quite sure if it is official yet, you know...the moon or the sun or something does something and something shifts and BAM, a new season. Yeah. Whatever that is.

Is it Orangemoon where you are? Her golden eyes look dismally onto a fiery sunset. The colors were almost enough to bring her heart back up, almost. Not enough though, and so still her heart feels like its laying at the tips of her toes, beating slowly and painfully. It's harder now, without you, than it was when I was little. How can I miss someone I never knew though? I want to remember you... I want to know your face and your voice like I know Dad's, like I do Reginald's and Abraham's. All I know of you is that one memory of your beautiful face on the day I was born...you said something that day, something important, but I cannot recall what it was. My new ears were still full of gunk and my head confused and my lungs full of pain. Around her swarms a lull; the only stirring being a gentle breeze and a few songbirds to bring the evening on like a blanket. Everything was still green, the long grasses wave gently, back and forth. Their like a horse's winter hairs blowing in the wind and catching the orange light of the setting sun. She watches the sun go fall behind the horizon, her eyes are wet and reflective against the dim light of the sun's last ray. The violet curtain waits eagerly to take over and swallow up the sky until it's black. Just before the sun's radiancedisappears completely she turns away from it, the brims of her eyes finally letting go the crystalline droplets, one for each half-white cheek. She shakes it off like a dog getting up from a good roll.

It's not in your best interest to feel things, Macaria, so stop. She barks at herself inwardly and scowling outwardly. Well if my mother didn't just go ahead and DIE for no reason.. She sucks in a sniffle. Oh wait. That reason was me... I almost fucking forgot! Pushing me into this world ripped her in two and now she's dead. FOREVER. GONE. She shakes her head, realizing now that she was yelling at herself inside of her head. Her skin suddenly feels cold and prickly, sweaty and chilly at the same time. She shakes again, but the feeling sticks to her like clay mud. Maybe the river will make me feel better – water always makes me feel better. Frowning, she walks off and leaves the purples and dissipating pinks and golds of a downed sun behind.

Half of an hour later she comes to her favorite river spot amongst the meadows. It is rarely, if ever, visited by anyone but her. Big, very old oaks tower over a mossy forest floor and a bed of gnarled ancient roots that reach out to the sandy bank of the running river. This particular spot is a pool, dammed at each side with perfectly round stones and a few strong granite pillars. The contraption is so old she cannot begin to even guess who's crafting skills were responsible. It seems as though it lets through only just enough to keep the current gentle and a small, shallow pool to wade in or drink from. She wastes no time and quickly slips into the water up to her chest, drinking as she walks into the cold water. Relief webs across her body as she takes it in and soaks in it, her tail slashing fast at first and then slowly relaxing to sink under the surface. Calmness washes over her thoughts, her mother's absence pushing back to obsess over at a later date.

Ah. Much better.