“We were just holes, after all, holes filled up with light,
and deep in our secret hearts we worried that we were an accident,”
Holiness returns to her as fast as it had left beneath the weight of her mourning. They step closer, flesh and bone to stardust, and something tightens around her heart like a comet's tail. Her blood starts to sing a song that sounds like remember, remember, remember and each star-pit trembles in a cage of light for the fury of her moonshine blood. The beat of her heart feels bruised as the boy offers her a golden feather.
She does not take it, not with the holiness rising as the mourning sinks down into the black spaces of her form.
Warset tries to form her lips into the shape of a smile, of something mortal with teeth made for foliage instead of universes. At her sides feathers starts to whisper a hush, hush, hush to the trembling star-pits begging to fall around them. The silver of her gaze shines, and pulses, and turns hot with the wreckage of her sorrow. And she does not turn that look to them in the same way she turned her smile. Her eyes race across the constellations, and the blackness caught between them like oil between sea and stone.
How sweet it would be to take to the blackness, and anoint her wings in blackness and moon-silver, while they look up like rabbits at a hawk. She blinks with the thought of it, and her sides inhale once in a sigh that has nothing to do with sorrow and everything to do with a longing to pull this world apart star by star.
And she wonders what would fall to the earth if she chewed out pieces of this ink black sky. She wonders what would shed off from her teeth and her lips like teardrops.
“I am done with my sorrow.” Her voice rings like a bell when she tosses away the last of the light catching on the planes of her face. Darkness pours in as she takes a step between them, lifting her eyes towards the places where the space is the darkness. The whisper of her wings turns to storm-moan and sea-crash. Night is falling outside this place and each moon starts to lift, and lift, and lift like a cloud upon a mountain. Her soul is roaring when she turns back to them and says, “of course I can make it.”. The last of the mourning falls from her form.
The wildcat waiting beneath wants to devour the pity from the lines of their faces.
The star wants to shake lose the cells of this form.
And the girl, oh the girl, only wants to lift her head up to the sun and feel the heat race down her sides like rain.
But it's the star and the wildcat that turn back to the golden mare and the sea-child with silver fire dancing in her eyes. It's the star that smiles with teeth and sings, “come, together we will find the end.”, like it has never forgotten how to be holy.
@Pan @
