There is a certain loneliness here, even with a world blooming at the drop, drop, drop of her molten blood. It's the only thing that blooms in her, the silver idol, as the flowers start to drown and the foals lay their heads down to dream. Her feathers, her world devouring wings, start to sing the song of it as she rises out from the gravitational pull of this world to follow him. No. He's already gone by the same she says the word, off dancing through the galaxy dust and stars.
Her black feathers seem almost sinister beside his golden ones as they overlap in flight. There's no smile on her face, no look full of sharp-teeth and wonder, there is only the silence falling heavily down her throat now that the hum has worn out. Without it she feels empty, hollow, a god without her moon-blood.
A tiger's eye falls between them, crashing through their wings like a thing both fiery and lost.
And soon more stones are falling: lapis and sapphire, quarts and ore. Each has a ring of light around it, lost light, starlight, cosmic light that's been chewed out and is falling, falling, falling to a distant silver, misted shore. An ivory crown appears on her brow with fossil thorns digging into her skin.
Oh, how violent, how full of molten fire, are the dreams of a mortal star cast out from the cosmic glory.
Inevitability hangs like spice and wine on her tongue as she swoops above him, around him, a distant noose winding its fibers together into a circlet to grace his brow. Jewels appear in the braid of her tail, diamonds and rubies that drip, drip, drip as they run down into the blackness like raindrops. A tremble flows over her like a tide and the edges of the dream waiver, ripple, and the wildcat tries to claw against the feeling of empty air and fire-cold blackness.
When she opens her mouth a feral roar pours out. Language is slipping away, away, away.
More stars fall, more stones fall, their feathers brush together as she dives around him. Her tail is dripping liquid diamond and ruby still as the world shivers back down to a shoreline in the desert. The skin covering her soul starts to glow as the cat scrapes her claws down the inside of it and pulls at the bones with the strength of her jaw.
A bell is tolling, a clock is ticking, a story is pouring out and it's discordant instead of lovely. Warset, trembles between the dream and the hunger. And she's almost lost to both but yearning, yearning, yearning for one.
For the boy with the golden wings and the crow's smile full of teeth.
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