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09-17-2016, 02:44 PM
stars and butterflies
“Of course. We don’t forget.”
Her voice echoed over the chamber, strong and decisive, forged from all the layers of hurt and damnation she’d seen, she’d scorched, she’d muddled and mired her way through. Each stumble had drawn her closer to something (she could hope, down in the dregs of her stalwart heart, that it had been for anything other than heartbreak), to lacquer and enamel courted in factions of kindness, of gratitude, and perhaps, of uselessness. But she’d never ignored, overlooked, or neglected a moment of weakness and ineptitude; they haunted her just the same, poignant and sharp, grating senses given a claw’s edge – when she’d plunged a little too far, when she’d loved a little too much, when she’d locked herself a little too deep and no one ever bothered to see if she’d crept out of her shell. Her flaws were piercing swords and rancorous stones, cast upon her hide, upon her soul, upon her essence, in tides of sorrow and neglect, in maelstroms of terror and horror, in days stretched between seasons and cycles. But she couldn’t see Tandavi’s, all those shards and fears she claimed; could only gaze upon her copper hide and see fire - that glorious element that flamed and fanned and engulfed (and then she wondered what she could do with it, how she could wield and court such lively embers into something more than trepidation). The sylph wanted to show her, somehow, someway, that there was more than apprehension and disbelief, but sometimes she too was so swallowed up by it, so drenched and drowned by the sheer weight of its cumbersome bearing, that she didn’t know how to free the girl from the demons snagging at her tethers. So she leaned against her, a broad, guiding shoulder, a warm, tender embrace, smiling and encouraging, full of promise and liberation, when she couldn’t find her own sense of deliverance. “But we do overcome,” she sang along the walls, listening to its gentle, reverberating echo, pondering over how she could snatch a piece of it for herself. Her gaze caught the hope, the look of aspiration, ambition, dancing over the fire maiden’s features, and she didn’t want it to go away, she didn’t want it to be strangled and snatched, folded over and crinkled. Her melody touched over the strange lights and fox tails, rummaging through bracken and midnight oil, all fairy and mountain inhabitant, like she dreamed of all those hours spent vanquishing foes. “We remember what it was like to feel weak, because we don’t want that sensation again.”
She peered a little closer then, so her brow might have touched upon the girl’s, so she could lend her strength and resilience (because some days it was all she had), so the hours wouldn’t seem so long and the moments wouldn’t feel so utterly broken. It was support and guidance, wishes and dreams, scepters and sonnets, spring and jubilation all sprung, laden, and woven together, the gentle grin still crossed and sculpted across her lips. “Which one do you want to conquer first?”
Her voice echoed over the chamber, strong and decisive, forged from all the layers of hurt and damnation she’d seen, she’d scorched, she’d muddled and mired her way through. Each stumble had drawn her closer to something (she could hope, down in the dregs of her stalwart heart, that it had been for anything other than heartbreak), to lacquer and enamel courted in factions of kindness, of gratitude, and perhaps, of uselessness. But she’d never ignored, overlooked, or neglected a moment of weakness and ineptitude; they haunted her just the same, poignant and sharp, grating senses given a claw’s edge – when she’d plunged a little too far, when she’d loved a little too much, when she’d locked herself a little too deep and no one ever bothered to see if she’d crept out of her shell. Her flaws were piercing swords and rancorous stones, cast upon her hide, upon her soul, upon her essence, in tides of sorrow and neglect, in maelstroms of terror and horror, in days stretched between seasons and cycles. But she couldn’t see Tandavi’s, all those shards and fears she claimed; could only gaze upon her copper hide and see fire - that glorious element that flamed and fanned and engulfed (and then she wondered what she could do with it, how she could wield and court such lively embers into something more than trepidation). The sylph wanted to show her, somehow, someway, that there was more than apprehension and disbelief, but sometimes she too was so swallowed up by it, so drenched and drowned by the sheer weight of its cumbersome bearing, that she didn’t know how to free the girl from the demons snagging at her tethers. So she leaned against her, a broad, guiding shoulder, a warm, tender embrace, smiling and encouraging, full of promise and liberation, when she couldn’t find her own sense of deliverance. “But we do overcome,” she sang along the walls, listening to its gentle, reverberating echo, pondering over how she could snatch a piece of it for herself. Her gaze caught the hope, the look of aspiration, ambition, dancing over the fire maiden’s features, and she didn’t want it to go away, she didn’t want it to be strangled and snatched, folded over and crinkled. Her melody touched over the strange lights and fox tails, rummaging through bracken and midnight oil, all fairy and mountain inhabitant, like she dreamed of all those hours spent vanquishing foes. “We remember what it was like to feel weak, because we don’t want that sensation again.”
She peered a little closer then, so her brow might have touched upon the girl’s, so she could lend her strength and resilience (because some days it was all she had), so the hours wouldn’t seem so long and the moments wouldn’t feel so utterly broken. It was support and guidance, wishes and dreams, scepters and sonnets, spring and jubilation all sprung, laden, and woven together, the gentle grin still crossed and sculpted across her lips. “Which one do you want to conquer first?”
the songbird
@Tandavi
