Break in the sun
Until the sun breaks down,
Until the sun breaks down,
She remembers looking into the world, with the ocean thundering in her ears and the sun stinging against the newborn violet of her eyes. It had seemed strange then, to walk the world as a lion fat with endless need and hunger and want. Miles had dissolved beneath her stride, trees had withered in the forests as she stalked wolf-feral through the dappled sunlight, rivers had turned to algae sludge as she slaked her hunger in the mountain waters. She remembers the feel of her slat-ribs as hunger gnawed on them like Eilgos to the corpse of the poacher (and as she too had gnawed).
She remembers to the way she looked at a king of twilight and stardust and counted the vertebrae beneath his perfect back. There had been wishes tossed in the sea behind them and light-water caught in the spirals of her horn as she rose from the darkness. Each of their words had been an attack on that thing in her once thoughts.
And each word had been a weapon begging her to rise, and clash, and consume it on a battlefield.
But this, this gentle kiss of his lips and the humming of his heart as it stumbles into the death-knell of her organs, is nothing like a battlefield, or a counting sonnet of vertebrae, or the humming of her thoughts as she opened her eyes upon this universe. This is something else, something her immortal lips feel hanging behind them in pulses of smoke, and acid, and sugar. Thana struggles to find the words as he paints her in softness and she paints him in tomes of violence and a love that is more consuming than it is eternal.
She wants to find those words, that something else, with a need more violent than every poisoned drop of hunger and violence in her form. She wants.
Oh she wants desperately. Each beat of his heart, each lyric of his voice, each follicle of his hair, each flower growing roots watered by his magic-- she wants all of it. And she takes it, in his word and his kisses, with out shame and all the righteousness of a god. “There is no world, no death, in which I would not want you or love you.” She says the words with all the fury of the wolves, and the lions, and the formless hunters that were gathered like pollen to make her.
Somewhere, on the other side of a veil, magic and time are roiling, and waiting, as deep as two seas for her to come home, home, home.
She pulls back her teeth from his throat and her blade from his hip. She tucks her cheek to his and her hip to his hip. Flowers wilt and rise, furl and unfurl, pollinate and die, in rings around them (each living like a snake chasing and eating it's own tail). Thana sees none of it. She forgets the story of the children and is deaf to the sounds of the pearls falling from her name as the pressure of them together pulls them from her hair. She forgets everything but the song of his heart falling into death and the chorus of her heart falling into life.
She forgets everything but him.
I am Thana, her thoughts tell her now, and I will forever need nothing but this.
And when she closes her eyes the night, and the music, and the veils eager for her magic, slip over them like nothing more than a frail spring breeze against the deep rooted forest of them. Until the dawn, their dawn, there is only this and her thoughts again and again on the same repeating melody of her heart falling into life.
<3 | @Ipomoea
"Speaking."
"Speaking."
