[AW] in the back of my mind

[Marisol]

i wish i could say everything i've done and still be loved.

Marisol knows what loneliness looks like.

What it feels like, too, of course. But especially what it looks like: how to pick it out of someone, in the particularly sad slope of their shoulders or the way they turn their eyes down. She’s looked like that many a time. She’s sure she looks like it now—downtrodden, at least—as she peers down over the edge of the cliff and tries not to think about Asterion.

Not old yet.

And still he’s gone. Gone and gone and gone, the starlight of his skin and the moonlight of his eyes. Not old yet. And how long had it been since that day by the ocean when they raced like children over the salt? Cirrus had wheeled overhead, she remembers, and how they’d talked about the—

About the sea horses. Now Marisol’s jaw clenches when she thinks of them, and the salt in her blood sings with rage. The ropes of muscle in her body tense into so many net-knots. The white-cold wind and the smell of the ocean burst up to sting her lips and nostrils, and suddenly she’s alive again, bright-eyed and awake and striding toward the figure on the edge of the cliffs.

She cuts a striking figure, this stranger with the bristling spines and skin the prettiest colors of deep water. Mari smooths her wings to her sides and carefully brushes down the bristling parts of her mane. The sky overhead is warm now with the setting sun, rippled in shades of pink and orange and deep, moody purple; wisps of clouds float where the horizon meets the sea.

In a voice sweet as bells, dark as the ocean, Marisol calls out: “By her Hand.” A pause; she steps closer.  Now the space between them is negligible, but she’s careful not to overstep her boundaries—kept her shoulders squared and eyes turned purposefully toward the tides. “You’re new.”

@kalae welcome to Terrastella <3

"Speaking."

queen marisol

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