[P] the vine & the rain & the light

[Apolonia]

I CAN SEE THE FUTURE, IT'S A REAL DARK PLACE -

O had always assumed, even as the littlest child, that Solterra would protect her. Something about the easy way her skin fit against the sand or how effortless she found it to wander the markets even without a map, or, most likely, the way the court watched her mother as they passed through the streets - reverent or fearful, it did not matter which. As long as they looked at her like that, she would be safe. The desert itself would watch over her. She could not be touched in the sanctity of her own home.

Why, then, does she feel so exposed here, and so cold, and so utterly vulnerable?

Maybe it’s the chill of the wind, maybe it’s the way the light doesn’t fall on her like it should. Either way when her father steps away, Apolonia shivers, and the spasm goes all the way down to her heart and constricts it so tight she has to brace her shoulders not to fall over. It hurts much more than it should, and she knows this, and it does not make it hurt less. Breathe. The space forged between them shines with a bright coldness she can’t ignore. At Acton’s feet the sand looks a little more silver, a little more precious.

But she smiles when he does, anyway, because how could she not? And what purpose would it serve? And what use would she get of wasting the last night they might have together in weeks, seasons, years? For all O’s rage, something in her is old. It begs for understanding; it does not allow for pettiness. Yeah, she says, lucky, and grins so wide that she looks like a real child again, bright-eyed and mischievous. (Of course she gets that from him.)

With a gentle bump of her shoulder to his, she turns and starts to make her way toward the coastline, ignoring the bite of cold at her skin.