CYRENE .
per aspera ad astra
Brilliantly white, bitterly cold, and starkly beautiful—though lovely, I do not think I will ever grow fond of snow’s harsh embrace, Cyrene mused, a lingering shiver shedding plumes of white powder from her wine-stained shoulders. The girl of autumn had blown into Terrastella with winter’s descent, her arrival bringing the Court’s season of gilded leaves and bountiful harvest to a close. She had encountered snow only once before; Pelion had been nestled in a temperate land, where autumn seemed to last half the year before reluctantly releasing its hold to spring. The winter of Cyrene’s first birthday had been peculiar however, a bizarre torrent of snow blanketing the village seemingly overnight—and melting just as quickly. Yet in those few days of winter-white wonderland, the young filly had frolicked like a newborn fawn, delighted at the frosty phenomenon.
But here, where winter sank its teeth deep into the land for an entire season, Cyrene no longer frolicked with mirth; she shivered with dampened spirit instead. It is true that one grows more weathered with the years, she sighed. Though chilled to her bones, not a tinge of regret could be found in the wood nymph’s heart even as her thin pelt tried desperately to keep out the cold—for she had arrived just a few days shy of Terrastella’s lively winter festival. The citizens of the Court had been consumed with holiday fervor for the upcoming festivities, and new as she was to Novus, Cyrene was never one to miss a chance at attending a raucous celebration.
Not surprisingly, the girl had arrived at the cliffs well before sunset, curiously observing the mirthful Terrastellans as they prepared for the night’s festivities. Roaring bonfires, spicy cider, delicate lanterns—it was dazzling, and she had flitted from stall to stall eager to lend a hand wherever it was needed. As the rays of the setting sun basked the craggy landscape in a glorious, molten glow, Cyrene meandered towards the cliff edge with a cup of piping hot cider floating alongside her slender frame. The vendor she’d aided in carrying crates loaded with apples up the cliffs had insisted on providing her unlimited cider all through the night, and the offer had been too sweet to resist.
Now far from the warmth of the bonfires, the hubbub of celebration drifted away like a dream as Cyrene listened to the crashing of the restless depths below. The howling, salty wind whipped dark tendrils of her curly locks against her neck, yet the red flowers she’d wound in her hair remained stubbornly fixed. Eyes of dim amber gazed down at the black sea, as dark and as endless as a celestial sky. She was made of sunlight and constellations; yet a hurricane churned inside her.
The revelry, the joy. Not once did it ease the aching pain that lingered always in the shadows of her bleeding heart. Sorrow was a ravenous beast—try as she might to appease it with constant laughter, to quell it with feigned happiness, Cyrene could not keep the monster from consuming every last drop of her soul."It is so much harder,” she whispered, lilting voice uncharacteristically somber, "to be left behind. The departed have it easy.”
Perhaps, if he hadn’t arrived, she would’ve inched her hooves closer towards the crumbling edge, lost in a desolate trance. Perhaps, if his crash landing hadn’t pulled her from her thoughts, the desire to feel the wind against her scarred wings would’ve finally consumed Cyrene whole. But like a messenger from the gods, the silver-coated boy tumbled from the skies; and she didn’t do either of those things. Call it divine intervention or just coincidence—for Cyrene swiftly turned away from the beckoning precipice, and rushed to the dazed boy’s side in hasty concern.
"Are you… alright?” she breathed as she neared him, the bitter ocean air burning in her lungs. He looked young, or at least younger than her, and as her gaze swept over his slender frame for injuries, the boy’s dove gray coat sent a jolt through her chest. It shimmers just as Cygnus’s did. Kneeling down, a warm smile crossed Cyrene’s lips as she pushed the still steaming cup of untouched cider towards him. "You look chilled. Here, some hot cider from the festival—I’ve been promised an unlimited amount for the night, and I plan to take full advantage of that offer. Drink up!”
But here, where winter sank its teeth deep into the land for an entire season, Cyrene no longer frolicked with mirth; she shivered with dampened spirit instead. It is true that one grows more weathered with the years, she sighed. Though chilled to her bones, not a tinge of regret could be found in the wood nymph’s heart even as her thin pelt tried desperately to keep out the cold—for she had arrived just a few days shy of Terrastella’s lively winter festival. The citizens of the Court had been consumed with holiday fervor for the upcoming festivities, and new as she was to Novus, Cyrene was never one to miss a chance at attending a raucous celebration.
Not surprisingly, the girl had arrived at the cliffs well before sunset, curiously observing the mirthful Terrastellans as they prepared for the night’s festivities. Roaring bonfires, spicy cider, delicate lanterns—it was dazzling, and she had flitted from stall to stall eager to lend a hand wherever it was needed. As the rays of the setting sun basked the craggy landscape in a glorious, molten glow, Cyrene meandered towards the cliff edge with a cup of piping hot cider floating alongside her slender frame. The vendor she’d aided in carrying crates loaded with apples up the cliffs had insisted on providing her unlimited cider all through the night, and the offer had been too sweet to resist.
Now far from the warmth of the bonfires, the hubbub of celebration drifted away like a dream as Cyrene listened to the crashing of the restless depths below. The howling, salty wind whipped dark tendrils of her curly locks against her neck, yet the red flowers she’d wound in her hair remained stubbornly fixed. Eyes of dim amber gazed down at the black sea, as dark and as endless as a celestial sky. She was made of sunlight and constellations; yet a hurricane churned inside her.
The revelry, the joy. Not once did it ease the aching pain that lingered always in the shadows of her bleeding heart. Sorrow was a ravenous beast—try as she might to appease it with constant laughter, to quell it with feigned happiness, Cyrene could not keep the monster from consuming every last drop of her soul.
Perhaps, if he hadn’t arrived, she would’ve inched her hooves closer towards the crumbling edge, lost in a desolate trance. Perhaps, if his crash landing hadn’t pulled her from her thoughts, the desire to feel the wind against her scarred wings would’ve finally consumed Cyrene whole. But like a messenger from the gods, the silver-coated boy tumbled from the skies; and she didn’t do either of those things. Call it divine intervention or just coincidence—for Cyrene swiftly turned away from the beckoning precipice, and rushed to the dazed boy’s side in hasty concern.
@Saoirse | notes: long post but I'm excited for them <3
