Israfel
Israfel understood much about life. About living. She had lived, died, and lived again. She had roamed the world of mortals, created from the loins of a burning, passionate God and birthed from the body of a doting, loving mother. She had grown taller, older in the land of shadows and mists, nestled and protected along the cliffs and forests, learning how to control her wild, unpredictable magic. Born with the gift of elemancy, the ability to control the most dangerous of elements, Israfel had thought herself one with fire. She was, after all, born from the God of the Sun, born from the origins of fire itself, crafted in the most revered of forges, the rarest of kilns. Fire was hers to control. The sun was her Star… But just as she was born, she had died. Eaten. Swallowed. Consumed by her very element.
She would always remember the pain, the smoke. Smoke. The name of her mother. How very ironic… It had choked her, stolen away her breath and filled her lungs, clogging her airway and nose and showing no reprieve, drowning her amidst soot and ash. Skin and hair had burned within a pillar of flames, a sacrifice to her own elements, her screams deaf to her own ears. Israfel would always remember. She would never forget. She had been born, but then she had died.
But then she had lived. Again.
The first breath of air to her lungs, the first breath of the reborn, had been as sweet as sugar. The tinge of smoke lingered on her tongue, soot coating her teeth. Rain. It had been raining. The water had doused the flames of her revival, of her rebirth, leaving her alone and weak as a newborn in a world that she knew nothing of. This was not her home, the land of her birth… But it was quickly becoming a home. A place that she could love.
So, yes. Israfel understood a thing or two about life, about living. She understood. Dying tended to put everything into perspective. It tended to change someone, irrevocably, inevitably. And yet more so than ever, the Daughter of the Sun knew what she wanted.
Life. Love. Happiness.
Yes.
If she had not died, she would not know. It had all come full circle.
The sand was soft beneath golden hooves, cushioning every step that the Warden of Terrastella took. Her pace was slow and leisurely, for she was in no rush. The waves crashed against the shoreline, creating a soothing song in which to appreciate, to admire. Israfel could not help but smile. She felt at peace in a way that she hadn’t in a very long time. The sun shone warm and welcoming along her spine, a gentle caress from a distant father. The sun was her Star. The Sun Daughter sashayed across the sands, her wings unfurled, gilded appendages glinting in the sunlight. A woman, feminine yet strong, moving with the elegance of the otherworldly, with the steps of a fighter. Nothing could bring her down. Not now. Not today. Fierce vermilion eyes gave a glance upwards, a smile for her father up above, before giving a cursory look around…
And her world stopped.
Halted.
She froze.
“… Mesec?”
A dark specter loomed upon the horizon, standing within the waves of the ocean. The water lapped at their legs, and the song of the ocean changed, conceding to the figure standing within its undulating berth. A dark shadow, the Moon Prince, the ebony of his body interrupted by the glowing of silver. For a moment he was there before her, proud and regal as the night he embodied, silver eyes turning her way, a smile uplifting his lips, his broad, handsome face igniting with recognition. The son of the Moon. Her counterpart in every way. Mesec.
For a split second he stood there, only meters away. Her heart sang. She grew breathless, overjoyed, elated, throwing her head high as ivory tresses caught the breeze. Rose-kissed lips opened and she called out his name, stronger, more powerful, her heart singing upon her very words.
“Mesec!”
Israfel gave a mighty lope forward, sand spraying beneath golden hooves. The ivory shield-maiden lessened the distance between she and the Night Prince in great leaps, her heart racing, ears forward, vermilion eyes locked on the figure standing amidst the lapping waves… But in the next second, the blink of an eye, the visage departed, leaving the truth behind.
It was not Mesec.
A figure of ebony and silver, yes, but not Mesec. Not her Night Prince. This figure had no wings. This figure, this stranger, was not her beloved brother. Haunches tucked and Israfel slid to a halt within the sand, her elation giving way to agony, her breath hitching as she stared, betrayed. An illusion? Had it been an illusion? Was this moon-mistress a witch?
“Oh,” she breathed, surely having garnered the moon woman’s attention by now, surely having looked a righteous fool, “Oh. I’m sorry, I… I thought you were someone else.”
And Israfel, who knew a thing or two about living, also knew a thing or two about heartache and grief. Her peace had been shattered and shaken, and now that grief had returned, bitter and cloying as the smoke that she still swore that she could taste.
She would always remember the pain, the smoke. Smoke. The name of her mother. How very ironic… It had choked her, stolen away her breath and filled her lungs, clogging her airway and nose and showing no reprieve, drowning her amidst soot and ash. Skin and hair had burned within a pillar of flames, a sacrifice to her own elements, her screams deaf to her own ears. Israfel would always remember. She would never forget. She had been born, but then she had died.
But then she had lived. Again.
The first breath of air to her lungs, the first breath of the reborn, had been as sweet as sugar. The tinge of smoke lingered on her tongue, soot coating her teeth. Rain. It had been raining. The water had doused the flames of her revival, of her rebirth, leaving her alone and weak as a newborn in a world that she knew nothing of. This was not her home, the land of her birth… But it was quickly becoming a home. A place that she could love.
So, yes. Israfel understood a thing or two about life, about living. She understood. Dying tended to put everything into perspective. It tended to change someone, irrevocably, inevitably. And yet more so than ever, the Daughter of the Sun knew what she wanted.
Life. Love. Happiness.
Yes.
If she had not died, she would not know. It had all come full circle.
The sand was soft beneath golden hooves, cushioning every step that the Warden of Terrastella took. Her pace was slow and leisurely, for she was in no rush. The waves crashed against the shoreline, creating a soothing song in which to appreciate, to admire. Israfel could not help but smile. She felt at peace in a way that she hadn’t in a very long time. The sun shone warm and welcoming along her spine, a gentle caress from a distant father. The sun was her Star. The Sun Daughter sashayed across the sands, her wings unfurled, gilded appendages glinting in the sunlight. A woman, feminine yet strong, moving with the elegance of the otherworldly, with the steps of a fighter. Nothing could bring her down. Not now. Not today. Fierce vermilion eyes gave a glance upwards, a smile for her father up above, before giving a cursory look around…
And her world stopped.
Halted.
She froze.
“… Mesec?”
A dark specter loomed upon the horizon, standing within the waves of the ocean. The water lapped at their legs, and the song of the ocean changed, conceding to the figure standing within its undulating berth. A dark shadow, the Moon Prince, the ebony of his body interrupted by the glowing of silver. For a moment he was there before her, proud and regal as the night he embodied, silver eyes turning her way, a smile uplifting his lips, his broad, handsome face igniting with recognition. The son of the Moon. Her counterpart in every way. Mesec.
For a split second he stood there, only meters away. Her heart sang. She grew breathless, overjoyed, elated, throwing her head high as ivory tresses caught the breeze. Rose-kissed lips opened and she called out his name, stronger, more powerful, her heart singing upon her very words.
“Mesec!”
Israfel gave a mighty lope forward, sand spraying beneath golden hooves. The ivory shield-maiden lessened the distance between she and the Night Prince in great leaps, her heart racing, ears forward, vermilion eyes locked on the figure standing amidst the lapping waves… But in the next second, the blink of an eye, the visage departed, leaving the truth behind.
It was not Mesec.
A figure of ebony and silver, yes, but not Mesec. Not her Night Prince. This figure had no wings. This figure, this stranger, was not her beloved brother. Haunches tucked and Israfel slid to a halt within the sand, her elation giving way to agony, her breath hitching as she stared, betrayed. An illusion? Had it been an illusion? Was this moon-mistress a witch?
“Oh,” she breathed, surely having garnered the moon woman’s attention by now, surely having looked a righteous fool, “Oh. I’m sorry, I… I thought you were someone else.”
And Israfel, who knew a thing or two about living, also knew a thing or two about heartache and grief. Her peace had been shattered and shaken, and now that grief had returned, bitter and cloying as the smoke that she still swore that she could taste.
@Jezanna - … I did not intend for this to happen. Have a novel, I guess? xD
