Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
And the unicorn evils run them through;
There is a kaleidoscope of colors in the spaces between the nebulae, and the comets swooping like fire-birds, and the planets rolling above them like a hundred rocks caught in the gravity magic. A first it's an echo of color in the darkness, a sting like pressing her eyes closed too hard, a ghost of a dream colored only for that first moment between slumber and life. And then it's more, a sound that is red, and lilac, and sadness.
Thana's eyes burn to see it all caught between the tail of a comet and the pale bone-white lines etching out a constellation between the spinning stars. They burn, and sting, and well up with tears of black decay instead of water. Her tail taps on the glass-earth and even that sounds red, and lilac and sad. Perhaps that's the sound of violence: red sadness and the crack, crack, crack of glass echoes that makes her heart tremble and remember the breaking of bones.
Her walk turns to a run, and then a gallop, and then something like madness streaking through the kaleidoscope of not-really-there color. Beneath her skin the membranes of her lungs tremble and snap like butterflies only just emerging from a cocoon slumber. They taste where they should not; they taste stardust and moon-dust and cosmic-dust that is devoid of nothing. It only makes them inhale faster, and exhale faster than that. And even when it seems that she has been running forever, and the echo of her madness has long since become the heartbeat of this place, she still cannot find the fog.
Even the endless of it, the feeling that she'll run until her lungs wither and die, does nothing to slow Thana's flight across the glass-earth. Her blood is singing too fiercely for her to think of anything but faster, faster, faster. Like molten red, molten sound, it's singing, faster.
But when a nebula explodes into life before her, Thana doesn't remember the moment when the madness smothered out and the wonder grew roots. She doesn't remember the moments between running, and stillness, and the tremble of her lungs.
All she can see is the colors and that steals every thought, every bit of rage, from her furious heart.
@any!
"Speaking."
Thana's eyes burn to see it all caught between the tail of a comet and the pale bone-white lines etching out a constellation between the spinning stars. They burn, and sting, and well up with tears of black decay instead of water. Her tail taps on the glass-earth and even that sounds red, and lilac and sad. Perhaps that's the sound of violence: red sadness and the crack, crack, crack of glass echoes that makes her heart tremble and remember the breaking of bones.
Her walk turns to a run, and then a gallop, and then something like madness streaking through the kaleidoscope of not-really-there color. Beneath her skin the membranes of her lungs tremble and snap like butterflies only just emerging from a cocoon slumber. They taste where they should not; they taste stardust and moon-dust and cosmic-dust that is devoid of nothing. It only makes them inhale faster, and exhale faster than that. And even when it seems that she has been running forever, and the echo of her madness has long since become the heartbeat of this place, she still cannot find the fog.
Even the endless of it, the feeling that she'll run until her lungs wither and die, does nothing to slow Thana's flight across the glass-earth. Her blood is singing too fiercely for her to think of anything but faster, faster, faster. Like molten red, molten sound, it's singing, faster.
But when a nebula explodes into life before her, Thana doesn't remember the moment when the madness smothered out and the wonder grew roots. She doesn't remember the moments between running, and stillness, and the tremble of her lungs.
All she can see is the colors and that steals every thought, every bit of rage, from her furious heart.
@any!
