And I've never felt more alone / It feels so scary, getting old
It is said that to conquer one’s fear they must embrace it, accept it, and then move on from it. Only once this is complete will one be all they are meant to be: complete, whole, functioning.
If that is so, and if that is true, then Juniper knows she is not the Priestess her sisters would wish her to be. She is not the lover that el Rey deserves. How can she give him only half of herself when there is another half, a newer half, waiting to be born, to be reunited, to burst into the world and introduce the Heirophlakes as unconquerable and unstoppable?
Many nights she’s stayed up, gnawing on her lips, applying salve the following morning, and thought of nothing but the ocean. It is vast and it is terrifying. Its reach, unknown. Its depth, endless. She shivers in her bed and feels like she’s drowning on those nights. Only the scythe smile of the moon, the last touch of Solis’ fire, and the gloam that Vespera offers up provide any comfort to her in those moments.
In the barracks with the Halcyon, they do not twine themselves about one another as her sect of Vespera’s priestesses do. It leaves her skin aching, lonely. Even after a year and some odd moon cycles, she is still unaccustomed to sleeping alone. There has always been someone to comfort her should she need it. Now, there is no one.
El Rey should have been there to hold her close.
Even he left.
She wants to feel bitter. How she longs to detest him.
Juniper cannot.
All she can do is conquer her own fears one by one. So she floats from the Prastaglia cliffs on her dove-grey wings and settles into the sand as some shorebird would. Long-legged and silent, she dutifully looks anywhere but the expanse of the water.
There are many holes that dot the cliffside, some closer to the water than others. It is to these she walks instead, fleeing from the press of foam at her heels to something safer, somewhere she’s less likely to suffocate in the open air.
When her wings can extend and press against stone, the goddess-girl learns how to breathe. So she does, pulling down the salty tang of the air as calmly as she can. That is to say, not entirely calm at all. Her breaths are still more shallow than they should be, but Juniper does not know how to focus on anything but the sound of lapping water and dying things. Even in her head, there are krakens that slaughter even now.
Silently, she begs them all to run.
If that is so, and if that is true, then Juniper knows she is not the Priestess her sisters would wish her to be. She is not the lover that el Rey deserves. How can she give him only half of herself when there is another half, a newer half, waiting to be born, to be reunited, to burst into the world and introduce the Heirophlakes as unconquerable and unstoppable?
Many nights she’s stayed up, gnawing on her lips, applying salve the following morning, and thought of nothing but the ocean. It is vast and it is terrifying. Its reach, unknown. Its depth, endless. She shivers in her bed and feels like she’s drowning on those nights. Only the scythe smile of the moon, the last touch of Solis’ fire, and the gloam that Vespera offers up provide any comfort to her in those moments.
In the barracks with the Halcyon, they do not twine themselves about one another as her sect of Vespera’s priestesses do. It leaves her skin aching, lonely. Even after a year and some odd moon cycles, she is still unaccustomed to sleeping alone. There has always been someone to comfort her should she need it. Now, there is no one.
El Rey should have been there to hold her close.
Even he left.
She wants to feel bitter. How she longs to detest him.
Juniper cannot.
All she can do is conquer her own fears one by one. So she floats from the Prastaglia cliffs on her dove-grey wings and settles into the sand as some shorebird would. Long-legged and silent, she dutifully looks anywhere but the expanse of the water.
There are many holes that dot the cliffside, some closer to the water than others. It is to these she walks instead, fleeing from the press of foam at her heels to something safer, somewhere she’s less likely to suffocate in the open air.
When her wings can extend and press against stone, the goddess-girl learns how to breathe. So she does, pulling down the salty tang of the air as calmly as she can. That is to say, not entirely calm at all. Her breaths are still more shallow than they should be, but Juniper does not know how to focus on anything but the sound of lapping water and dying things. Even in her head, there are krakens that slaughter even now.
Silently, she begs them all to run.
@Caspian | "speaks" | notes: ;u;
rallidae | art
