[AW] that old illusion that it's safe;

[Marisol]

i opened my mouth and the night poured in-

In the fog they are nothing but silhouettes, and isn’t that something to be thankful for?

Through the cold grayness she can’t see all the starshine on his skin, can’t see the true depths of those onyx-dark eyes; as much as it might separate them, it lends Marisol a kind of strength, to know that something lies between them even if she almost wishes it did not. Were she given the opportunity, she thinks, she would burn it to dust. Let their distance dissipate. If she had the opportunity - 

Well. She doesn’t. So what’s the use of holding onto it.

She glances at Cirrus with curious eyes, subtle as her gaze might be. It’s the first time she’s seen them together and something in her heart aches to think of someone ever being that close to her. The idea is so foreign it’s almost absurd. The closest most people get to the Commander is in the heat of a  brawl, instances marked by silver scars and patches of missing hair, from hitting the dirt, from bite-and kick. And this, she thinks, is not the kind of closeness most people are looking for.

At his question, Mari simply shrugs. Her gray gaze cuts sideways, meets his with something like curiosity, maybe even disbelief, but like every expression that crosses the Commander’s face it is muted and locked, merely a ghost-glass reflection of the real thing. She wonders what could’ve happened to make him ask - if his curiosity stems from fear or from reverence. I have not seen them, she admits, and peers a little further down the cliff, as if she’s looking for one alongside him now. But that does not mean they do not exist.

She wants to say that she has not seen the gods, but they exist - that she has not seen love, but it exists - that there is much of the world they have left to discover, an almost disgruntling percentage of it, but there is no doubt that all that strange and lovely unknown still exists. But it is a thought too heavy to make it past the salt in her throat.

Heavy-eyed, Marisol blinks against the breeze.

@asterion