“The dull rumble would rise in pitch to a swishing, lashing exultation”
This is the not the first time she has been Isra who is running, running though the dark. Once she ran through the dark sea of her own thoughts with Eik at her side. She sailed a ship that bumped and twisted anchors with another.
She also traveled down, down, down into the pit of her that held at its core, like a volcano, a molten pool of magic.
It's to her magic that she travels now, running through the dark of her own, almost dead body. The magic blooms across the back of her eyelids like lightning cleaving a dark sky in two. She thinks that it was a lie, how it felt as cool as the sea when she first found it. Now it feels like salt in grit against her hardening heart. It's no calm sea that meets her when she comes looking for it, but a pillar of water rising up, and up, and up to drown her. It pools in each crack in her heart and it fills all her bones with fury instead of marrow.
I need you. She tells her magic.
I know, I know. It replies in a voice that speaks in aches instead of words. It hurts. Let me free. It rises and licks at all raw edges of her like a wolf at a lamb.
Isra opens up the cage and it swells like a new organ inside her. It still hurts but she welcomes it, even as she thinks, this is not what you were supposed to be. I wanted wonder. But the magic is not longer listening and it's swelling and oozing out like blood from all the wounds in her heart. Soon there is no where left for it to go.
Later she would wonder how Raum could have been foolish enough to pour something down her throat that drags her through the dark and into the moonlight. Now she's only glad to be rushing through the dark into the light. Her magic is leading the way-- white, and hot, and molten. It blazes the path up from the darkness and it rides upon the ghost of Acton that was running with her heart through the dark places the poison took her.
The bones of the old cracked, altar start to turn into flowers, and vines of ivy that tangle together like snakes. Inside that pile of foliage and beauty all the mites, and worms, and ants that once picked clean all those bones are starting to change too. The flowers start to hum and flutter in a barely there breeze.
Isra opens her eyes and in them there is hate enough to drown the world.
Yes. The magic sings in her blood. Yes, yes, yes.
@Raum @Abel
