COME BACK TO THE SHORES OF WHAT YOU ARE
COME BACK TO THE CRUMBLING SHORES
Orestes belongs here.
There is a part of him, wisened and old, that wonders if this is the place he will one day find his way to. If in death, or some other strange afterlife, the keeper of the dead will lead him into the stars.
It is only fitting, he supposes. His people once told a myth—and this is the very reason the sun sigil burns so brilliantly at his brow—that each night the sea put out the sun. Every night there was a battle at the end of the earth before the sun, again, rose.
But what is the sun if not a star?
What is Orestes, if not the sun?
He walks mesmerised through the nebula, the twisting cosmos that dance about his hooves. There is stardust gleaming in his eyes and strewn out in the air as though it belongs there. Perhaps Orestes is dead.
A voice echoes out across the starlit darkness. What is this place? a girl asks, and in the asking her voice echoes.
Orestes eventually decides to walk toward it, with Ariel beside him, until he sees a girl and a bear.
He knows what he must look like, walking through the strange galaxy before her. He glows so radiantly his face cannot be seen, and the light does not seem to emit from his skin, no, but from some place within him. Ariel, too, burns gold, gold, gold.
Orestes cannot help it.
“It is a magic place,” he says aloud, and seems to answer his own thought. Orestes states what may seem to be obvious, but then elaborates. “This region changes to the whim of the gods. At this moment, they’ve chosen it become stardust, fantasy, perhaps Olympus itself.”
@Ciaran || "Ariel" || "Orestes"
the wave of a life darker than my
life before me sped, and I,
larger than I was, grown dark as
the shoreless depth,
arose from myself, shaking the last
light of the sun
from me.
