IPOMOEA
there's no place i'd rather be
”I
t did,” she tells him, and his pain is a sigh lost on the wind. He had been so busy grieving for Delumine - for it’s fires and it’s loss and it’s tragedy - that he had forgotten to grieve for the rest of the world, a world that was rapidly changing. It was selfish of him, a former Emissary, to care so little about the other Courts. ”I’m sorry,” he says, but nothing more.
Once upon a time, he would not have hesitated to run to Terrastella. Had the letters of their plight come a year or two years ago, he would have been there by the next day break, ready to help in whatever way he could. He was not blessed with healing magic to help others, or earth magic to remold the earth; he was not even blessed with flight, and his magic was almost wholly useless. Still, when there was a will, there was a way, and he would have helped.
But this time when the letters came, not only from Terrastella, but from everywhere all at once - he had chosen to remain silent. Had the will vanished? Had he forgotten the vows he’d made to never turn away someone in need? He had told himself it was for the sake of Delumine, but the Dawn Court had Somnus, and a god who actually cared to help. From what he had heard, the other Courts were alone. It makes him feel guilty, and ashamed, and further profounds his sorrow. He can’t even look Florentine in the eye when she looks to him - how could he, when he had abandoned his duty and her Court, and her along with it?
She tells him he tried, and he chokes back a bitter laugh. What does it matter if it comes too late? He wants to ask her - the words are scalding on the tip of his tongue, burning him - but he can’t. His mouth is silent, even while his eyes scream and rage and sob and ask a hundred answerless questions, all of which start with why.
The flowers are whispering to them, twining around his legs, pressing their petals into his skin. But he has nothing left to say to them. His wings tuck themselves into his fetlocks, finally still.
He closes his eyes when she touches him, unaware that he was holding his breath until he released it in a sigh. For a moment it is only them leaning into one another, standing amidst a ruined forest in the center of a flower circle.
”Look!” He lifts his head alongside her’s, as the shadow of an eagle covers them. The shadow it casts turns its body dark, but the sun outlines its wings in gold. Light engulfs it in a soft, pale aura as it dips one wing and turns.
The barest of smiles hides itself at the corner of Po’s lips, and his eyes soften.
“It’s been a long time since you last visited Delumine,” he says softly, and he finally turns to look at her. Florentine looks the same as she always did, the same as he remembered. Her curls are as golden as ever, her petals especially refreshing and vibrant here in the skeletal remains of his forest. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed her, had missed her kind words and companionship.
“I’m glad you’ve come back,” he says at last.
He’s afraid to ask why she’s here and not there, where her home is also struggling. He’s afraid to know of all the things that might have happened since they last saw one another, and why her brother wears the crown she once was given.
He knows she’ll tell him in time, but for now he’d rather sit and watch an eagle fly, the way they had all those years ago.
@
