I P O M O E A
He kept an eye on the island, even when he left the beach and retreated back to Denocte. Even when he went about his business and tried to forget about the bridge and its strange wall of ivy, still it returned to him in his dreams.
He could see the ivy so clearly each time he closed his eyes, with their bright lobed leaves and the dark veins running through them, a cluster of green so thick he could fall into it as a bed. Through it all the berries kept thrumming, glowing brightly in his eyes as they hijacked his heart so that it beat to their tune, a song set by magic. His dreams were feverish, and many times he woke in a cold sweat to moonlight streaming through his window, and when he arose and went to it the waves from the nearby beach sent water and salt spray washing over him like a baptism. On these nights his mind felt chaotic, delirious and burning and spinning, always spinning, his thoughts turning so quickly he could hardly process them.
One of those nights he thought about flinging himself out his window. It would be so much faster to the beach that way - he imagined the waves would rise up to catch him, that some great beast of the sea would cradle him in its arms and carry him past the wall of ivy to the island hiding out there in the dark.
But he always came to his senses before he could; he always awoke before his dream-self reached the beach. It fueled the curiosity within him, until the desire to know what was hidden by the ivy became nearly insatiable, and he needed to see it the way he needed to breathe.
And so when the berries hummed louder, and louder, and louder still, he came to them. When they split open he caught the pearls that came forth in his telekinesis, and breathed in deep the smell of the wilting flowers when their petals spun past his nose. He waited that day, as the leaves withered and fell away and slowly, slowly revealed the pathway.
It was night when he finally crossed, walking upon a bed of leaves and petals and pearls.
He held his breath when he first stepped upon the beach, watching the way the waves glowed beneath the moonlight, listening to the strange bird calls coming from within the forest, feeling the cool breeze that seemed to come from within the heart of the island.
For a moment he could only stand there and wait and soak in the magic like a sponge soaks in water.
But then slowly, carefully, so as not to miss a single thing, Ipomoea began to explore.
He could see the ivy so clearly each time he closed his eyes, with their bright lobed leaves and the dark veins running through them, a cluster of green so thick he could fall into it as a bed. Through it all the berries kept thrumming, glowing brightly in his eyes as they hijacked his heart so that it beat to their tune, a song set by magic. His dreams were feverish, and many times he woke in a cold sweat to moonlight streaming through his window, and when he arose and went to it the waves from the nearby beach sent water and salt spray washing over him like a baptism. On these nights his mind felt chaotic, delirious and burning and spinning, always spinning, his thoughts turning so quickly he could hardly process them.
One of those nights he thought about flinging himself out his window. It would be so much faster to the beach that way - he imagined the waves would rise up to catch him, that some great beast of the sea would cradle him in its arms and carry him past the wall of ivy to the island hiding out there in the dark.
But he always came to his senses before he could; he always awoke before his dream-self reached the beach. It fueled the curiosity within him, until the desire to know what was hidden by the ivy became nearly insatiable, and he needed to see it the way he needed to breathe.
And so when the berries hummed louder, and louder, and louder still, he came to them. When they split open he caught the pearls that came forth in his telekinesis, and breathed in deep the smell of the wilting flowers when their petals spun past his nose. He waited that day, as the leaves withered and fell away and slowly, slowly revealed the pathway.
It was night when he finally crossed, walking upon a bed of leaves and petals and pearls.
He held his breath when he first stepped upon the beach, watching the way the waves glowed beneath the moonlight, listening to the strange bird calls coming from within the forest, feeling the cool breeze that seemed to come from within the heart of the island.
For a moment he could only stand there and wait and soak in the magic like a sponge soaks in water.
But then slowly, carefully, so as not to miss a single thing, Ipomoea began to explore.
@Ipomoea xx
”here am i!“
”here am i!“
STAFF EDIT***
@ipomoea has rolled a 3! He has been awarded +100 signos.
