It was hard to believe that the world could be so alive.
It was not the dull, silent, black-and-white thing he had come to know in his childhood, a cold front that greeted him every time he was let out of the cage that was his prison. He had thought that the sun, even when warm, carried with it a bite of winter, a harshness that seemed at every moment attempting to tear him down and eat him alive.
It had been a very shuttered, isolated view of the world, he would come to realize. And a very, very wrong one.
The world - the real world, was far more than anything his dreams could have prepared him for. The real world was a field of wildflowers carved from gemstones, each one placed intentionally in its perfect arrangement. It was a sky that stretched endlessly, father than he could see, with a million stars burning brightly overhead, a moon to guide his way home.
The real world was a girl, with starfire burning in her veins. And it was a boy with torn shackles still hanging from his legs.
“Leto,” he echoes, and a smile crafts itself onto his lips. It sounds like let go spoken too quickly, and he has to bite his tongue to keep himself from trying to mimic it aloud, to test it out for himself. He likes her name, he decides; it’s a good name. It tastes like light might on his lips, as gentle as the moon, and just as powerful. The sort of name the stars might bestow.
”I am Sirius.” Sirius, Sirius, Sirius, the stars are chanting, imprinting the name forever into his memory.
He would be content to stay here forever, if only time would stop: to sit here in silence with a girl born of the same thread as him, to let the stars speak for them. They would turn their gaze heavenward and Sirius would let his magic mimic the constellations he found there, until he turned to stardust himself. He could make up for his years of never seeing the night sky with the rest of his life.
For as tempting as the rest of the world may be, it would never compare to the allure of the galaxies.
His eyes meet her’s, both of them silver, both of them stars, matching gazes. He could make a new constellation of their eyes, he thinks, if only he could shape the stardust that still flows from him like water.
“Yes,” he answers her, and that word is a sigh, releasing more stardust from his body. Only now does he remember his flight, only now does he remember the ache in his wings, the fatigued that threatens to pull him down into the bed of glass roses.
“I do not know where I came from,” he whispers, “only that I am here now, and they say here is a better place than there.” He doesn’t need to tell her who “they” are, not with words; he gestures with one wing towards the skies above.
”- Do you know where here is?" It's an innocent question, but oh how it burns to ask it.
hearts are breaking
wars are raging on
you’ve got me nervous
i’m at the end of my rope
hey, man, we can’t all be like you
i wish we were all rose-colored too
my rose-colored boy
@Leto ! <3
