☼ S E R A P H I N A ☼
in the end, the World takes everything.
Somewhere else, I am alive still, saying.
He stretches himself out, frame tilting upright as he extends his massive wings. It does not last long; once he has assessed his own condition, he shakes his head and sinks back into the sand again, informing her that he doesn’t think that he is injured.
“Good.” Her response is simple. Flat. She doesn’t add anything to it, either; she simply waits for him to collect himself, to see what he has to say. Seraphina is curious enough about why he is here, and where, beyond “the sky,” he came from, but she has a feeling that this is a rather poor time to ask. His landing was all but a crash, and his demeanor is melancholic. (She has known enough of it herself to recognize it.) It seems useless to ask if he meant to come here. He clearly doesn’t – and she needs only hear the sound of his voice to know that he is no native of the other courts.
She bites down a wince when his eyes flicker away, conspicuously, from her swollen stomach, her jawline gritting. (It tastes bitter in her mouth.) She wants to say I didn’t choose this or it isn’t my fault, but there’s little use in trying to explain her situation to a stranger, however defensive it might make her feel. He sighs in a way that seems to rattle his entire body, and he asks her where they are.
That is a question that she has heard from lost strangers what feels like a hundred thousand times. At least she has rehearsed an answer.
“This is the island continent of Novus. We are in Solterra – the domain of the Day Court, the kingdom of the sun. This oasis is called the Vitreus, and it is in the heart of the Mors desert.” She recites the details easily, as though they will mean much of anything to the stranger; but at least, she tells herself, they are a start. She considers, for a moment, and then makes a hesitant offer, though her hesitation is not evident in her still-quiet voice. “If you would like, I can guide you to the capital city. It will be easier to get your bearings there.”
She no longer has any love for the sandstone city that nearly bore her, the place she once called her home and kingdom; she has no love for the colosseum, or the remains of the library she nearly burnt to ash in her love for it, or the palace, or the high walls, meant to repel invaders. She looks down its serpentine streets and shaded alleyways, and all she can think of are statues and fire and Raum. She used to be able to put it behind her. Now, it follows after her like a ghost.
(She hates him all the more for taking that from her, too. Her name, and her life, and her crown, and her people, and all the things that she had come to love – but her anger has nowhere to go. He is dead, and there is nothing she can do to change the past. All she lives for now is penance in a land that makes her skin crawl.)
But she will take him to the city, if he wishes. The Mors are dangerous, and so is the court – but it might welcome him with open arms, if luck and persistence are on his side.
tags | @Mauna
notes | <3
quote | cynthia cruz, "letters to emily"
"speech" || "ereshkigal"
in the end, the World takes everything.
Somewhere else, I am alive still, saying.
He stretches himself out, frame tilting upright as he extends his massive wings. It does not last long; once he has assessed his own condition, he shakes his head and sinks back into the sand again, informing her that he doesn’t think that he is injured.
“Good.” Her response is simple. Flat. She doesn’t add anything to it, either; she simply waits for him to collect himself, to see what he has to say. Seraphina is curious enough about why he is here, and where, beyond “the sky,” he came from, but she has a feeling that this is a rather poor time to ask. His landing was all but a crash, and his demeanor is melancholic. (She has known enough of it herself to recognize it.) It seems useless to ask if he meant to come here. He clearly doesn’t – and she needs only hear the sound of his voice to know that he is no native of the other courts.
She bites down a wince when his eyes flicker away, conspicuously, from her swollen stomach, her jawline gritting. (It tastes bitter in her mouth.) She wants to say I didn’t choose this or it isn’t my fault, but there’s little use in trying to explain her situation to a stranger, however defensive it might make her feel. He sighs in a way that seems to rattle his entire body, and he asks her where they are.
That is a question that she has heard from lost strangers what feels like a hundred thousand times. At least she has rehearsed an answer.
“This is the island continent of Novus. We are in Solterra – the domain of the Day Court, the kingdom of the sun. This oasis is called the Vitreus, and it is in the heart of the Mors desert.” She recites the details easily, as though they will mean much of anything to the stranger; but at least, she tells herself, they are a start. She considers, for a moment, and then makes a hesitant offer, though her hesitation is not evident in her still-quiet voice. “If you would like, I can guide you to the capital city. It will be easier to get your bearings there.”
She no longer has any love for the sandstone city that nearly bore her, the place she once called her home and kingdom; she has no love for the colosseum, or the remains of the library she nearly burnt to ash in her love for it, or the palace, or the high walls, meant to repel invaders. She looks down its serpentine streets and shaded alleyways, and all she can think of are statues and fire and Raum. She used to be able to put it behind her. Now, it follows after her like a ghost.
(She hates him all the more for taking that from her, too. Her name, and her life, and her crown, and her people, and all the things that she had come to love – but her anger has nowhere to go. He is dead, and there is nothing she can do to change the past. All she lives for now is penance in a land that makes her skin crawl.)
But she will take him to the city, if he wishes. The Mors are dangerous, and so is the court – but it might welcome him with open arms, if luck and persistence are on his side.
tags | @
notes | <3
quote | cynthia cruz, "letters to emily"
"speech" || "ereshkigal"
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
