[P] I leave whole cities unburned

[Ambrose]

Somewhere in you there's a power with no name
It can rise to meet the moment and burn like a flame

I

t is safe to assume that my sister does not remember our birth much, if at all. It is safe to assume that I should not, either, but I do. Against all odds, I do. And these are the things that I remember:

It is hot, and and bright, bright, bright outside the safety of our mother’s womb. The world is alive, and harsh, and eager to dig its claws into us. Even as we breathe for the first time with empty lungs, stand for the first time on unsteady legs. I am the second born, so to be sure, everything before me is lost to blackness, and the faint suggestion of sound through liquid.

But that first breath, and that first wobbling rise to my hooves were not as terrifying as I will come to know the world. Because beside me is my sister, who has been beside me all along. And now we are with our mother. We are not alone. I am not alone.

But our mother—she is crying. I am too young to understand what it means, or why. Maybe it’s from being a part of her, from understanding her stress, and her pain for so long, but from a different way. I don’t think she knows it, but when she ushers us closer to her and I lean in a little closer, I think some part of me wants to comfort her.

I don’t know if it works, to be honest. But I want her to feel, in the way that I feel it, that she is not alone. We have been there, and we will be there, my sister and I.

• • •
I would go anywhere with Diana, and she knows it. She knows that—despite my reservations and cautions—I could never let her go anywhere alone. The thought of anything happening to her, well, that always made up my mind. Somebody needs to be her voice of reason, after all.

I know that mother is going to be waiting for us when we get home, and I tell Diana that but she has a look in her eye like this time will be different. She always has a look in her eye like that. I was as she noses her way through the entrance to the cavern, and when she looks back at me I almost think that perhaps she might be right this time.

Until I see the light. It comes suddenly, outlining what I can see of my sister, and I know it is our mother’s sword. It is the only explanation. When I step in behind Diana, she is there waiting for us just as I thought she would be. She does not look happy. But Diana does all the talking, as usual, and steals most of the attention.

I stand back as mom lays down at the back of the room, and Diana skips over to join her, snuggling up with ease while she pays mind to my sister’s scraped shins. I feel like I’m intruding on something, even though I know I shouldn’t. I feel out of place, or maybe out of time. And maybe part of me is still waiting to get into trouble, too.

And then Diana stretches out a wing, and mother asks what sort of story I want to hear tonight. A weight lifts off my chest, like I can breathe a little easier, and I make my way over until I’m laying against my sister’s side, my double set of wings cushioning between us. “I like Solterran history,” my voice is quiet as I rest my head against mom, golden eyes contemplative. I know that I would like any story, but Diana would probably prefer something more exciting. “Will you tell us about the gods?”

I say it like I want to know about them all, and not about one in particular. I say it as though I don't feel like I'm missing pieces of myself that will make me whole.

{ @Diana @Seraphina "speaks" notes: <3 }

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