MY SOUL IS AN EMPTY CAROUSEL AT SUNSET
"You left us"
Poison swarmed high and unheralded in the vernacular of her finely-spun body, seeping into every vein and every pore like a serpent seeking its prey; a poison that Mila had constructed so effortlessly by the lash and lilt of wounded, wounding, lips. The young girl was not wrong - she had left them, casting herself into the light and claiming it as her own whilst her family lingered on into the night, into shadow and oblivion. Rhoswen came from a house built from spiderwebs, embellished by secrecy and magic, but to this dominion she could never belong; the wolf in her howled still to the moon but it was the sun that held her volcanic and gossamer heart. How could they possibly understand her when they did not share the same tongue? Denocte spoke in penumbra, in the silver kiss of moonlight; they could never decipher Solterra's dialect of charred incandescence, of their sulphurous dawn serenade.
"I know." Nothing but her fragile whisper bridges the gap between them. Rhos steels herself for an onslaught of anger and frustration, but instead finds only anguish. Would it always feel like this? It seemed to the auburn woman that, to find oneself you must first know loss. "I had to," she tries, her expression scrawled and unclear, "I was drowning beneath the night; it didn't matter how hard I swam, I could never keep my head above the darkness." Hard grey eyes of ash and debris locked firmly on her companion's; two girls clothed in red, so alike and yet somehow the complete antitheses of one another.
"The moon still calls to me sometimes," almost absentmindedly now, Rhoswen drifted away from the silence that hung, chasmic and despondent, "but I am not foolish enough to listen, for she is a siren in the water luring me back into her depths." Still, Rhos did not break her gaze from Mila, a whisper falling from her lips. "Do you see?" There is a fragility, an anxiety, to her voice that did not often exist, a need for someone to understand, anyone.
@mila i heart u
