[AW] oh, this kind nepenthe

[Sirius]

STARRY-EYED The flowers are a whisper of glass and sharp things as he walks amongst them. They make up a song, a thousand voices rising together with the wind to tell the story of the star-dusted boy walking amongst them. Even his bell chimes in, a mezzo-sopranic singer to lead them all with its clear ringing.  Sirius doesn’t understand the words they sing; but he understands their meaning well enough. There was no word for heaven nor for earth, for gods nor men; their’s is the song of freedom, of mystery and revelation. The entire universe is laid out bare before him, his for the taking, his to explore. Monsters and nightmares be damned, he had left them behind in the forest, replaced them with a field of wildflowers carved from gems, sprinkled like terrestrial stars across the churned up fields. Tonight it was all about him. There were things to see here, things to do, things to be. He would be them all, if he could. He stops amongst the flowers, feelings their cold petals press in against his skin. He’s never seen anything like them before; he dips his head low, their facets filling his eyes with a thousand colors.  Sirius hasn’t seen much of the world; but he’s seen enough to recognize the magic coating the land he’s stumbled into. “Where am I?” His voice is soft; when was the last time he’d used it? It’s rough with misuse; like a sheet of paper that’s been crumbled up into a ball and tossed away, with torn edges and sharp creases. It feels impossible to unscramble it, to lay it out smooth and ready for use again. He swallows thickly; his throat feels strange, as if it, too, is rejecting the foreign words he speaks with a fickle tongue.  Maybe he was meant to be silent after all; isn’t that what he’d been told? Words were for commands, and commands were for the masters. Except he has no master now.  The leather trailing from his forelegs is a testament to that truth, the endings torn and frayed. If he wanted, he could unbraid those strands and cast them off for good; yet he doesn’t. They hold on for dear life, their grasp tight about his knees, his crux and his salvation.  His life and his death. moondust in your lungs stars in your eyes you are a child of the cosmos a ruler of the skies @Leto ! takes place in the current RE!