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12-24-2015, 04:24 PM
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
It's there again. The whisper in his veins—the distant tinkling of silver bells riding in on snow-dusted (in Orangemoon?) winds. It was a faint song in his blood, like a half-remembered hymn rising out of the depths of his past, and then .. tree by tree, the Edge came alive, each and every one of them adorned with those jingling bells. And snow fell, so soft, so pure, so white and light and elegant—and Mauja laughed, spinning happily in the small glade he stood in, snow flurrying about his feathered feet. There was snow and light and a melody, a harmony, a rhythm—a sense of peace and kindness, a warmth slipping through icy veins, and in his corner of the world, Mauja danced.
He knew where to go.
He remembered where to go, flowing out of the Edge like a river of moonlight, heading for the Meadow—for the tree—for the gathering—for the turtle. Long, frost-bitten blades of grass and thistle bowed before his pale knees, silken tail streaming behind him like a banner. And there, upon a dark horizon, rising tall above was the turtle's tree. Tall and icy, uncomfortably reminiscent of the thing he had raised above Torasin's body, but beautiful where his own monument had just been sad; this one stood so tall, illuminated in starlight, glowing, shimmering, swaying and simply .. being, without question.
The turtle was there, too, slow and magnificent and adorned in silver and ice and who knew what else—and others, they gathered, and Mauja gathered with them, lingering somewhere in the frosted grass as if not quite sure he was one of them, and not wanting to distance himself either. He was a ghost on the doorstep of mortality and family, pale eyes staring in through ice-rimed windows with longing—because he was outside in the cold. Not one of them.
Bitten by his own insecurity he simply stood still—no longer dancing.
[ Merry Christmas <3 ]
He knew where to go.
He remembered where to go, flowing out of the Edge like a river of moonlight, heading for the Meadow—for the tree—for the gathering—for the turtle. Long, frost-bitten blades of grass and thistle bowed before his pale knees, silken tail streaming behind him like a banner. And there, upon a dark horizon, rising tall above was the turtle's tree. Tall and icy, uncomfortably reminiscent of the thing he had raised above Torasin's body, but beautiful where his own monument had just been sad; this one stood so tall, illuminated in starlight, glowing, shimmering, swaying and simply .. being, without question.
The turtle was there, too, slow and magnificent and adorned in silver and ice and who knew what else—and others, they gathered, and Mauja gathered with them, lingering somewhere in the frosted grass as if not quite sure he was one of them, and not wanting to distance himself either. He was a ghost on the doorstep of mortality and family, pale eyes staring in through ice-rimed windows with longing—because he was outside in the cold. Not one of them.
Bitten by his own insecurity he simply stood still—no longer dancing.
[ Merry Christmas <3 ]
Mauja
the white queen
