Small crafts of paper, held aloft by flame. They would be ripped to shreds by the wind if they were so much as buffeted in the wrong direction. They were so fragile, falling apart when touched as lightly as the breeze from a butterfly's wings.
And it was these things that were supposed to carry off the past year, and carry the wishes for the new one.
It was fitting, in a way. These things were so delicate, so easily broken. All it would take was one wrong move and everything the people of Novus hoped for for the coming year would come tumbling down. Everything would be ripped to shreds on the wind, the voices of their wishes quashed by the gale.
Yet people still put their faith into these lanterns, still poured their hearts and their souls into the crafts and believed with all their hearts that they would safely carry their hopes and dreams off to the heavens, to be brought upon them in the coming year. They put their faith in these small scraps of paper and measly flame to carry off whatever negativity may have weighed them down in the year before, to safely escort the demons of the past away from their lives without tearing and unleashing pandora's box.
The common sense in the stallion wanted to shake his head, to warn those who stood on the cliff side not to place such faith in such delicate contraptions, to be wary of the dangers the world held. To not trust in something more delicate than gossamer and more prone to breaking than hearts.
But that would never stop them, and for some reason, it didn't stop him either.
He stood on the cliff, away from the rest of the congregation, face tilted towards the sky as he watched the lanterns of others floating in the frigid air. He stood alone, in the dark and the cold, away from the fire and warmth, an unlit lantern by his hooves and the sound of waves breaking on the shore below surrounding his quiet breaths.
He stood silently, a light wind coming in from the ocean tugging just so at his mane, keeping the forelock away from his eyes and ruffling the paper of the lantern by his hooves, held down by the weight of the lighter tucked away inside.
Perhaps it would be poetic to say he contemplated the fragility of wishes and just how much of Novusean society was held up by sheer faith. But he didn't need to contemplate such things, to someone who skulked in shadows and watched from a distance, it was already so very clear.
So he didn't contemplate anything, really. He just watched the floating lanterns drifting off to sea, the distant murmur of voices and the sound of the wind in his ears the waves of the ocean his only company. And he thought, for a moment, how funny it was that it was the dead of winter, and yet the lanterns in the far distance might even be mistaken for fireflies.
@Adelheid
OOC: I believe this was requested :D
