i'm buried and covered under millions of stars

Their world was such a passionate display of secrets. Every single one of them had a story to tell, but their mouths were closed, locked tight, incapable of wrenching or prying apart those clandestine caprices and molten wiles. Instead of telling their innermost thoughts, their enigmatic actions, they stole across the void and delved into passion, into ardor, into reckless garb and tangible armor, clawing, ripping, and tearing so no one saw what folded beneath the top layers.

She’d watched Hotaru carefully as they made their way back into the Basin, as she remained sculpted in blood and finesse, as if she hadn’t been bludgeoned, weakened, defeated or tarnished, as if she was only Queen, only sovereignty, only rites and rituals. Lena hadn’t said a word, hadn’t asked her a query about how she’d received her wounds, her lacerations, or her barbaric fineries. The Songbird had bid and done as was requested, then searched, searched, and searched deep inside herself for the endless answers no one would ever likely provide. She, like so many of them, merely wanted to protect, to offer sanctuary, to bestow refuge; and even if she couldn’t do so as a confidant, she’d certainly embark her way as a healer, tending and nourishing and assuaging the ichor marks her compatriots always possessed.

The fairy listened as the meeting begun, at the warnings and lacquer unfolded into the wintry frame (as perhaps one query was answered before anything else could be anointed). Her eyes rose to the sentinels as they seemed eager to crumble, as Mortuus Nox christened them as nothing but eyesores, and her serene nature kindled, incensed, burned against the core of the tranquility. “Something that has protected us for so long will never be an ugly sight. They should be honored,” and her eyes fell to Nox, narrowed and slightly disappointed, before tilting her ears back and forth over the words of her rulers, over the crowd beginning to grow. She was content in peace, apprehensive on the word of threats, and altogether held together by more furtive whims, just like the rest of them. Her smile lifted, hastened and brightening, at the promotions in order (another to fill in D’art’s role, another to be anointed and christened in the house of healers). The radiant grin polished, bright and luminescent, eager and fervent, towards Tiamat and Ki’irha. “Congratulations! Well earned!” Then left the rest of the gathered to echo and boom, to dissent or embrace – hoping it all didn’t fall apart like the last.

the songbird