tell me father,
what to ask forgiveness for:
what I am, or what I am not?
what to ask forgiveness for:
what I am, or what I am not?
I don’t know where I learned that comparison is the death of self. The words seem likely to belong in a library, or a script, or even a prayer. Perhaps it was Hilde, who told me, in a moment of unexpected wisdom. I wish I knew, and I wish I knew how to believe it.
I walk in my father’s brilliant lack of shadow. I walk bathed in his brazen golden light, and know with a depth that exceeds the seas’:
I will never be him. I will never glow with Solis’s warmth, or so smoothly radiate compassion. He empathetically listens to his citizens when they approach; he compliments the Ieshans on their “party” and all along I drift dark and obscure where his shadow should be. He had invited us all here; I, and Hilde, and Mother. They must be elsewhere, and I--
Well, I cling to him.
I cling to him as a shipwrecked sailor to jetsam.
There is a man that approaches, and Ariel too; and my father is whisked away with a bright, too-bright, smile. He says, “I will not be long; stay near the garden of statues, and I will find you.”
My father is gone before I can agree; Ariel lingers for a moment, appraising me with those unnerving feline eyes. I cannot look away.
And then the lion is gone, too. I am alone, but follow the Sovereign’s instructions with the devoutness of a priest: I walk to the garden of statues, where the festivities are silent for now, and look out across the dark marble. I have never seen artwork like it; it makes my mouth dry, and stirs a feeling I do not recognize.
Or perhaps the feeling is one I have suppressed all along, tonight. The Terrastellan monks tell me, Vespera has given you powerful magic, young prince. You must not let your emotions get the best of you, or--
The air around me glows red. My mouth tastes like salt. I can feel the thrumming energy of the party; and the effect is nearly dizzying. There is so much noise, but it is all within me, it is the flow of things I cannot control. All around me the air is full of it, of high highs and low lows. I can never distinguish the emotions of the energies: only the flow of positive and negative, always through me, always--
Overwhelming.
I am breathing hard by the time I reach the end of the statues. The corridor they make looms above my small frame; there are crashing stallions, mares like Aphrodite, monsters of myth--they clash with lamplight and stars, made in stark white marble against the darkness all around. As I walk beneath, the red light of my energy casts them into even deeper contrast. Jagged smears of light accent their immortalized features, and--
It is, perhaps, a little quieter here, beneath their impassive stares. I close my eyes for a moment, and am alone; this is where I may meditate, as the monks suggest. I can ground myself, before my magic overcomes me--
but in the quiet, with my light turning back to something radiant and bright, I feel an energy like that of a black hole. It happens so quickly I am already a conduit; I am already falling in. My eyes snap open, and I see her now where I should have seen her before: I had mistaken her for one of the many sculptures. But no, she is--she is a girl, and a unicorn, with a scythe-like tail dragging the marble floor below.
The sound is one I have never heard before.
The sound is one that chills me to the bone. I am glancing at flowers; and wondering why my stomach twists and flies. A girl, a girl--but there is something about her more clamorous than all the partygoers beyond, something that opens with all the discord of the night sky if it were to explode.
She is smiling at the flowers in the eyes of the statue.
I am red, red, red. I want to make something; the energy within me is clamourous too, is explosion and the sound of the big bang in silence, the fire and elements and--
“Hello,” I say, and my voice breaks.
I walk in my father’s brilliant lack of shadow. I walk bathed in his brazen golden light, and know with a depth that exceeds the seas’:
I will never be him. I will never glow with Solis’s warmth, or so smoothly radiate compassion. He empathetically listens to his citizens when they approach; he compliments the Ieshans on their “party” and all along I drift dark and obscure where his shadow should be. He had invited us all here; I, and Hilde, and Mother. They must be elsewhere, and I--
Well, I cling to him.
I cling to him as a shipwrecked sailor to jetsam.
There is a man that approaches, and Ariel too; and my father is whisked away with a bright, too-bright, smile. He says, “I will not be long; stay near the garden of statues, and I will find you.”
My father is gone before I can agree; Ariel lingers for a moment, appraising me with those unnerving feline eyes. I cannot look away.
And then the lion is gone, too. I am alone, but follow the Sovereign’s instructions with the devoutness of a priest: I walk to the garden of statues, where the festivities are silent for now, and look out across the dark marble. I have never seen artwork like it; it makes my mouth dry, and stirs a feeling I do not recognize.
Or perhaps the feeling is one I have suppressed all along, tonight. The Terrastellan monks tell me, Vespera has given you powerful magic, young prince. You must not let your emotions get the best of you, or--
The air around me glows red. My mouth tastes like salt. I can feel the thrumming energy of the party; and the effect is nearly dizzying. There is so much noise, but it is all within me, it is the flow of things I cannot control. All around me the air is full of it, of high highs and low lows. I can never distinguish the emotions of the energies: only the flow of positive and negative, always through me, always--
Overwhelming.
I am breathing hard by the time I reach the end of the statues. The corridor they make looms above my small frame; there are crashing stallions, mares like Aphrodite, monsters of myth--they clash with lamplight and stars, made in stark white marble against the darkness all around. As I walk beneath, the red light of my energy casts them into even deeper contrast. Jagged smears of light accent their immortalized features, and--
It is, perhaps, a little quieter here, beneath their impassive stares. I close my eyes for a moment, and am alone; this is where I may meditate, as the monks suggest. I can ground myself, before my magic overcomes me--
but in the quiet, with my light turning back to something radiant and bright, I feel an energy like that of a black hole. It happens so quickly I am already a conduit; I am already falling in. My eyes snap open, and I see her now where I should have seen her before: I had mistaken her for one of the many sculptures. But no, she is--she is a girl, and a unicorn, with a scythe-like tail dragging the marble floor below.
The sound is one I have never heard before.
The sound is one that chills me to the bone. I am glancing at flowers; and wondering why my stomach twists and flies. A girl, a girl--but there is something about her more clamorous than all the partygoers beyond, something that opens with all the discord of the night sky if it were to explode.
She is smiling at the flowers in the eyes of the statue.
I am red, red, red. I want to make something; the energy within me is clamourous too, is explosion and the sound of the big bang in silence, the fire and elements and--
“Hello,” I say, and my voice breaks.
