they dredged icarus up from the sea today; wings bedraggled, tangled in the nets of those who tried to raise his body before. but he would not ascend; he learned his lesson.
I have already confessed that her newfound hardness impresses me; but perhaps the words arrive at my lips too soon. Yes, but he was the only prince I heard about. He invited me.
The feeling that wells in response to her words is childish; I recognise this, but it does not prevent it from hurting any less. I am not special. He must have sent dozens of letters to guests, inviting them to the Ieshan celebration. What had they said, I wonder? Certainly, there was nothing to imply in what he had written me that I was set apart from any other--simply that I intrigued him.
He had invited Elena, and this fact fills me with an unexpected bitterness. It makes it painstakingly evident I know little of the prince, and our time shared in the desert grove means very little when paired with a life of other interactions. I am filled with sudden longing of home, and of those who I had known my entire life--
What do you mean?
It is too late, I think, for her to soften.
She does anyway.
Torin. You do not seem to give yourself enough credit.
My smile is small and bitter, a shard of glass against my face. “No.” I answer. “I am too old to delude myself into believing I am a man I am not.”
Why, I ask myself, am I attracted to Adonai? It is because he is nothing like me. It is because he is fragile, and breakable, and for those very reasons he could never inflict the kind of harm I am accustomed to. It is because I want to hurt him; and I want to be his saviour.
“Yes,” I begin to lie. And then amend: “I saw her, if that is what you’re defensive over. She looks just like you.” It goes unstated: And very little like whoever her father may be.
I wonder if that makes Elena feel more, or less, alone.
The feeling that wells in response to her words is childish; I recognise this, but it does not prevent it from hurting any less. I am not special. He must have sent dozens of letters to guests, inviting them to the Ieshan celebration. What had they said, I wonder? Certainly, there was nothing to imply in what he had written me that I was set apart from any other--simply that I intrigued him.
He had invited Elena, and this fact fills me with an unexpected bitterness. It makes it painstakingly evident I know little of the prince, and our time shared in the desert grove means very little when paired with a life of other interactions. I am filled with sudden longing of home, and of those who I had known my entire life--
What do you mean?
It is too late, I think, for her to soften.
She does anyway.
Torin. You do not seem to give yourself enough credit.
My smile is small and bitter, a shard of glass against my face. “No.” I answer. “I am too old to delude myself into believing I am a man I am not.”
Why, I ask myself, am I attracted to Adonai? It is because he is nothing like me. It is because he is fragile, and breakable, and for those very reasons he could never inflict the kind of harm I am accustomed to. It is because I want to hurt him; and I want to be his saviour.
“Yes,” I begin to lie. And then amend: “I saw her, if that is what you’re defensive over. She looks just like you.” It goes unstated: And very little like whoever her father may be.
I wonder if that makes Elena feel more, or less, alone.
