come away, o child
to the waters and the wild
Even if he knew her thoughts, Aeneas would not answer them. He has learned it is better to say nothing than condemn oneself with the truth; there’s no risk in remaining quiet about the intricacies of ones-self. He decided this early on, when he began to notice the stolen glances between his parents, or when they explained to him they are separated not because they want to be, but out of obligation to their respective Courts.Some days, he hates Solterra for that reason. Other days, when he stands on Terrastella's cliffsides and closes his eyes, he loves it. Right now, he doesn’t think about it. Right now, he thinks about how Elli is the first girl his own age he has met besides his twin. Really, she’s the first child he’s met, and there’s a kind of connection in that and that alone.
It’s not sad. He smiles a smile that now meets his eyes. “I guess I’m not very good at art. Why isn’t it sad?” he asks, because he wants to know; he wants to know why she made it, and finally begins to close the distance between them. He does so to get a closer look at the painting, and then to leap jovially onto the larger rock beside the one she had chosen as her canvas. He stretches his wings out in an almost playfully gesture, catching the breeze.
He glances at her sidelong, however, and tucks them back to his shoulders. “Not forever?” he repeats. “Where would you go instead?” He feels rude for asking so many questions; but it’s easier than talking about himself, he finds. He looks to the sky again, away from her eyes and her quiet whisper, thinking that one day he might go there and not come back.
with a fairy, hand in hand
for the world is more full of weeping
than you can understand
