The hero is strangely close to those who died young. Lasting
doesn’t contain him. Being is his ascent: he moves on.
doesn’t contain him. Being is his ascent: he moves on.
It is late; the night is quiet. And I am drunk.
I lingered, perhaps, too long at the party. I lingered so long the other patrons left, and I became a shadow of the Ieshan estate. My mind remains a whirlwind of those interactions; whether that be with Adonai, Pilate, or Elena. Each name holds a different flavor and, tired and alone, I no longer wish to dwell upon each one. Solterra is no longer gold; even with the flickering torches that line the street, and the silent sentinels at the walls, everything has been bled of colour by the moon. My breath fogs the air with winter's chill. The same chill assaults me.
Perhaps it is the late-night silence, or my drunkenness, or any other number of factors that creates within me a certain, painful nostalgia. As much as I invest myself in Novus, it is not home. I expect to round a corner and come face-to-face with the same bakery I had known my entire life, or the blacksmith just down the block. I expect to see the same faces I had known forever, whose complicated secrets were ingrained within my own. I cannot help but think of Adonai's feather-touch, the lightness of it, the smell of sandstone and something sickly sweet, like rotting fruit. His sickness, I know.
Right now, that does not seem to matter. Right now, I cannot discern whether I am happy or sad, elated or dejected. The street is long, and empty, and I am swaying. It was foolish of me not to make sleeping arrangements, but I think if I can make it out of the Solterran city I could summon Damascus to take me elsewhere, to take me to--
Safety? The word seems obscure; as unrealistic as a dream.
I continue to walk and am surprised to discover I do not know where I am going. My mind is blurring, and my body is burning. More than anything, I would like to lay down and sleep. But--I must leave the city. I must find lodging, or, or--
I have never been lost in my life. But all around me, nothing is recognizable. I clear my throat at nothing but darkness, and crane my head to look up at the sky. If nothing else, I think, at least the stars are beautiful here.
I lingered, perhaps, too long at the party. I lingered so long the other patrons left, and I became a shadow of the Ieshan estate. My mind remains a whirlwind of those interactions; whether that be with Adonai, Pilate, or Elena. Each name holds a different flavor and, tired and alone, I no longer wish to dwell upon each one. Solterra is no longer gold; even with the flickering torches that line the street, and the silent sentinels at the walls, everything has been bled of colour by the moon. My breath fogs the air with winter's chill. The same chill assaults me.
Perhaps it is the late-night silence, or my drunkenness, or any other number of factors that creates within me a certain, painful nostalgia. As much as I invest myself in Novus, it is not home. I expect to round a corner and come face-to-face with the same bakery I had known my entire life, or the blacksmith just down the block. I expect to see the same faces I had known forever, whose complicated secrets were ingrained within my own. I cannot help but think of Adonai's feather-touch, the lightness of it, the smell of sandstone and something sickly sweet, like rotting fruit. His sickness, I know.
Right now, that does not seem to matter. Right now, I cannot discern whether I am happy or sad, elated or dejected. The street is long, and empty, and I am swaying. It was foolish of me not to make sleeping arrangements, but I think if I can make it out of the Solterran city I could summon Damascus to take me elsewhere, to take me to--
Safety? The word seems obscure; as unrealistic as a dream.
I continue to walk and am surprised to discover I do not know where I am going. My mind is blurring, and my body is burning. More than anything, I would like to lay down and sleep. But--I must leave the city. I must find lodging, or, or--
I have never been lost in my life. But all around me, nothing is recognizable. I clear my throat at nothing but darkness, and crane my head to look up at the sky. If nothing else, I think, at least the stars are beautiful here.
