Full beautiful—a faery’s child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.
Aster pays no attention to the little drama behind her; likely she doesn’t know it’s even happening, for there are other, less common things to look at than gulls and crabs.
She is no stranger to the way the beach is full of dead things, and bleached things, and things that smell like rot. She’s no stranger to the way everything is death and rebirth, again and again, a cycle that will one day take her too (though she is neither eager nor unwilling).
Anyway she can’t hear it, over the wind and the voices of the other gulls, who are always lamenting something. She is too busy studying the unicorn, who reminds her - standing in the new light of dawn like she is - of the figures in the temples she’s passed, on the rare occasions she’s passed them. Distant and holy, with an expression that does not quite belong in the world of woods and water.
Only this saint looks soft. Like velvet, not glass. Still, her eyes have the same sleepy-sorrowful look, like she’s woken from a dream of the end of the world.
So, when the unicorn says that she was dreaming, Aster gives a little shiver, delighted in her own sense of prophecy. It is not a thing of fear, just the riffle on top of the water when the wind moves through it; and light as the wind, she dances closer, until the only space between them is the wingspan of a gull.
“Dreaming should take all the time it needs,” she tells her. “What were you dreaming of?”
@Danae | <3
