Israfel
She understood. Israfel felt the same. It wasn’t easy to talk about the inner workings that hade her uniquely herself, finding difficulty in explaining the finely woven threads that built a tapestry that was Israfel. Once, she would have bragged. Once upon a time, in another world, she would have proudly proclaimed her heritage and what made her special. Now she was filled with nothing but solemn humility, humbled by experiencing the fire and ice of death. Death, as it turned out, did not care who or what you were, and inevitably came for everyone. That was simply how it was.
A pale ear tipped in Asterion’s direction, vermilion eyes casting him a sidelong glance and momentarily breaking away from her careful watch of the horizon. She spotted him inching closer, standing within her personal space and chasing away the winter chill. Surprisingly, Israfel did not mind the intrusion. Quite the opposite, actually. His warmth was oddly welcoming.
What made those places a home? Now, wasn’t that a good question? She thought back to her youth, before her premature death, thinking of the foggy forests of the World’s Edge, of her mother and father. Of Mesec, Hototo, and Roskuld. Names that no longer meant anything, in the grand scheme of the Astrals. Of all of those that she had met, no matter how fleeting the moment may have been. What made the World’s Edge not just a place, but a home?
“… The sound of my mother’s wise voice,” Israfel answered softly, surprising herself by the somber tone of her voice, “And the warmth of pride in my father’s. The sense of peace I felt whenever I was around them. A joyful laugh from a close friend. The knowing look in the eyes of someone I cared deeply for.” There was a memory of Mesec and his boyish, charming smile, of Hototo’s heartfelt, loving sincerity, of Roskuld’s rough-and-tumble ways. They were the half-siblings she would never see again, sons and daughters of the Gods. Abruptly, Israfel’s heart ached. How she missed them…
Rose petal lips parted, the vermilion depths of her eyes so insurmountably sad, but the look only lingered for a few moments before she chased it away with the great puff of her chest. Inhaling, the Sun Daughter held her breath, counting to five, before slowly releasing it.
“Those things made where I had lived before a home, and I’m slowly becoming familiar with those very things here. I would hate to lose it all again, Asterion. I really would.” It was honesty at its finest, raw and speaking of terrible pain. Surely he could understand.
Another deep breath as the warrior collected her thoughts, and then she smiled. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get so deep all of a sudden. Sometimes I just get lonely.”
A pale ear tipped in Asterion’s direction, vermilion eyes casting him a sidelong glance and momentarily breaking away from her careful watch of the horizon. She spotted him inching closer, standing within her personal space and chasing away the winter chill. Surprisingly, Israfel did not mind the intrusion. Quite the opposite, actually. His warmth was oddly welcoming.
What made those places a home? Now, wasn’t that a good question? She thought back to her youth, before her premature death, thinking of the foggy forests of the World’s Edge, of her mother and father. Of Mesec, Hototo, and Roskuld. Names that no longer meant anything, in the grand scheme of the Astrals. Of all of those that she had met, no matter how fleeting the moment may have been. What made the World’s Edge not just a place, but a home?
“… The sound of my mother’s wise voice,” Israfel answered softly, surprising herself by the somber tone of her voice, “And the warmth of pride in my father’s. The sense of peace I felt whenever I was around them. A joyful laugh from a close friend. The knowing look in the eyes of someone I cared deeply for.” There was a memory of Mesec and his boyish, charming smile, of Hototo’s heartfelt, loving sincerity, of Roskuld’s rough-and-tumble ways. They were the half-siblings she would never see again, sons and daughters of the Gods. Abruptly, Israfel’s heart ached. How she missed them…
Rose petal lips parted, the vermilion depths of her eyes so insurmountably sad, but the look only lingered for a few moments before she chased it away with the great puff of her chest. Inhaling, the Sun Daughter held her breath, counting to five, before slowly releasing it.
“Those things made where I had lived before a home, and I’m slowly becoming familiar with those very things here. I would hate to lose it all again, Asterion. I really would.” It was honesty at its finest, raw and speaking of terrible pain. Surely he could understand.
Another deep breath as the warrior collected her thoughts, and then she smiled. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get so deep all of a sudden. Sometimes I just get lonely.”
@Asterion
