There is a moment in which Maret wonders if the girl is more similar to her than she appears — if there was a parent somewhere in the festival that she had slipped away from, if that same thrill of adventure beats its wings like a bluebird trapped inside of her chest. If the orange of her eyes betrayed a flame burning somewhere in her bones, if a miniature sun fueled her smile. Oh, Maret hoped there was — it would make the trail that much better, having a partner in crime (even if she was younger.)
So she smiles, and hopes her smile looks as much like sunlight as it feels like it, and presses her shoulder tightly to Maeve’s as they walk.
At first, she doesn’t realize the way the forest echoes with more footsteps than it ought to. She doesn’t realize the way the air seems to grow colder, and darker, darker than it ought to be at twilight. It is only when Maeve presses closer into her side that she thinks to notice anything other than the soft whisper of the wind through the leaves, and the smell of wildflowers and spices drifting around them.
“Hear what?”
Already she is turning, following the other girl’s gaze. Already she is imagining something wonderful (never something terrible) — and when she sees them, all those dancing lights drawing closer, and closer, and closer, she gasps in delight.
“Oh!” she breathes, pressing her muzzle into them. Maeve is laughing, and she is laughing with her — as the fireflies flutter against her skin, light as falling feathers, so much like butterfly kisses (but so much better.) And then the two of them are chasing after them, and oh, oh, oh! It feels so good to run, to shake off her worries about the forest before, to lose herself in the light and the laughter and the recklessness of the night. There is no fear in the girl’s veins, none of the caution that the stranger warned her about — how can there be, when there are fireflies aplenty and the light has never lied to her before?
She is grinning widely when she pauses to catch her breath, and there’s a wild glint in her eyes when she turns to the other girl. “We definitely should,” she says, all bravado and charm. Already she has forgotten about the stranger, forgotten about the sternness in Aion’s eyes when he warned her not to wander in the dark.
She leaps off the forest trail without giving it a second thought, feeling her heart leap into her chest at one more act of defiance. And as the fireflies group momentarily into the shape of a horse, becoming more ghost than creature, she begs her legs to go faster, faster, faster —
“I’ll race you! Try to keep up!”
And then with laughter tearing from her lips she flees into the forest, branches tearing her braids free and feather-necklaces tapping wildly against her throat.
a sunflower soul
with rock n roll eyes
curious thoughts
& a heart of surprise
i look over at you
and see sunshine
@maeve ! notes
"butter mellow"
