I can see it, when I go to sleep. That other-world with those other-people, the dead-people, turning over in their shallow graves. Each night I hear them calling for me. And each night I go to them.
And one by one I am cracking their caskets open.
And one by one I am cracking their caskets open.
S he has dreamed of his death. When she lies down to sleep beneath a full moon, like an unblinking eye in the night sky, and all the wolves in the distance are lifting their noses as one to howl at it. On those nights the feel of her sister's ribscage pressed tightly to her own is the one thing (the only thing) that is able to stop her from lifting her horn to pluck that eye from the face of the world. But not even the shush, shush, shush of her heart can keep the dreams away.
Last night had been no different.
She had run through the dark dreamscape of her nightmares with a monster made of flesh and roots at her side. And together they had chased the moon, with their lavender ribs grown threaded together and their daisy eyes weeping petals instead of tears. Around and around and around the world, jaws opening wide with every step that brought them closer to their prey. Until at last with one final leap —
Isolt woke up. And instead of the moon staring down at her in her wilted flower bed, it was the sun. As though daring her to chase it, too.
Danaë had asked her what she dreamt about, tangled up legs and horns with her. And her answer had been the same as it had been the morning before, and the one before that: "The end of the world."
So now she is chasing the sun, as she follows the wild Rapax into gentler territory. She is watching the reflection of it dance around her legs when she steps into the water. Around her hooves reeds and pond weeds turn to algae that blooms in flower-patterns, choking the river with the sludge of it all. With each step and she turns more of the river to a dead thing strangling the life from itself. And when the dust and dirt from another is carried downstream to her, she presses into it all like a wolf coming home. And still she is following the sun.
She can see it now in his antlers that drip water and sunlight when he lifts his head, in the light that halos between them and turns the empty air into a broken thing full of colors. She can see it in his eyes when he turns to her, twin suns staring back at her, daring her.
Isolt smiles.
“Am I too early?” her voice is a whisper of water sliding across to him. She steps deeper into the water, so it creeps further and further up her body. The algae and rotting, floating plants turn the water dark and thick. “It’s not so bad, being dead. I could show you.”
@Leonidas
"wilting // blooming"
"wilting // blooming"
