Starlight and stardust start to pool in the cracks of her cheeks like blood, like her sorrow has torn asunder the heart of a the constellation. Her own heart is hungry for the silver blood and her teeth feel like hollow black holes beneath her lips. The glass beneath their feet grows slick with the light leaking down heavy as a hurricane rain. It laps at her hooves like a tide straining, and straining, and straining, towards a thing made of moonstone.
Warset, in her sorrow, hardly notices. All she can taste is the bitter sweetness of the light dripping cold and thick down her face. Her cheeks are still flush with light when she turns towards the boy and the girl, their own eyes blazing colorful in this world of black, and light, and glass.
She wonders what it's like to have parts almost too vibrant to look at, parts stained with color instead of with cosmos. Her wings rustle at her sides, each feather catching the light, and dust, and the roaring echoes of their three hearts in the still space. A searing pain dances though her insides.
On the other side of this realm, beyond the thick fog, the sun is starting to touch lightly the horizon. The wildcat in her bones purrs for the heavy blood-like thickness of the light. Hunger is a ravenous thing gnawing at her trembling organs.
Warset pulls her cheek from the molten star. Blackness rushes back into her cheeks, and wings, and the spaces between the diamonds peeking out from the tangles of her mane. In the blackness she trembles. “Stay.” She says the word with all the fiery brevity of a star crashing through the atmosphere. Across the silence, and the glass, and the reaching blackness, her voices echoes on and on. Like a single note of a song it echoes onward.
Her hooves sound like music as she steps closer to the boy with emerald eyes. Once she had greeted stars this way, with blackness and bits of light hanging from them like feathers and crowns. And when she offers him her nose it's with the quickness of the moon peeking out from a storm-cloud-- there and gone. “I am Warset.” The sword constellation glimmers in the corner of her eyes as she watches them with both longing and a dark undercurrent of predatory focus. Her body burrows into this mortality and the ruby moon at her throat starts to swing.
The last moon-bright tear blinks from her eyes and falls to the black glass floor. The sound it makes sets her heart to trembling as finely as her bones. It feels like each inch of this form is being made and unmade. The spots of white on her skin shimmer like holes chewed out of the night sky. The memory of it makes her ache enough that the rush of it clings to her voice. “Where is the end of this world?” Her wings drag across the glass, wiping away the last trace of that light-fat tear. And the look she gives them both quickly becomes something more, something darker, than sorrow.
@pan @
