“and if the moon walks out, the sky will understand;"
Oh!
Everything trembles in her when she watches him bed down in the ticket with flowers hanging around him. He looks like something made of everything rich in the world, that will forever hold a sacred place on an altar made of amethyst. Each inch of him looks like it would be heavy to hold, like swimming through the sea with a horn of stone spiraling out from her brow.
When she cants her head towards him and feels the old wounds sting, Isra thinks that she is not strong enough to carry anything through this world. She wonders if Eik finds her heavy and drowning; she wonders how he can bare to hold up all their sadness and not shatter.
Isra wants to stop Lysander then, open her mouth and swallow the story pouring from his. Could her magic change words too, turn sound to song, song to flakes of gold falling across their skin like snow? Her fragile legs carry her closer to him, like the wind carries a feather closer and closer to a cliff. The words of the girl make something in her rise, sharp and violent in her chest (like a church tree made of glass). Still she's tugged along by the look in his eyes that whispers, come to me.
Fable walks in her wake, over blades of grass turned to poison ivy. The boughs above them turn to blooms of nightshade. Berries red as blood, instead of soft green leaves, catch the sunlight like rubies. Each of her steps changes something bright and healthy into a horror. If she noticed her heart would have turned to ash and rubble in her chest.
Isra doesn't want to me a monster. But each day the differences between her and a beast are becoming fewer and fewer.
Can Lysander see the dark potential in her magic? Can he see the black shards of terror floating in the blue sea of her eyes? Can he see? Can he see? It hurts her to think that the world is quickly seeing how terrible she might become.
(but if it helps her hunt down Raum like a lion, Isra doesn't think she'd mind being a monster).
With a garden of horrors at her back she joins him, but it's not to bed down in that empty space he left for her. She comes closer to press her nose against his lips. It's a touch that should be cold and cruel but she struggles to make it anything but sad and warm. “Don't tell me what happened to her.” The words come out as a caress, hanging in the small space between them like flakes of gold the wind hasn't carried away yet.
She turns then and all her bones feel like rusted metal in her skin when she refuses to look back at him, resting like a noble hind in the copse. The sunlight would hang on his like a crown and the greenery would look like silk. Isra doesn't want that image to find her when she dreams tonight.
Each of her steps carries her further away than the last and Fable follows her as faithfully as any shadow in the noontime. Isra doesn't want to say goodbye.
She wants a story between them. Always. Always and forever.
@Lysander
