"the glint of light
on broken glass;”
on broken glass;”
If it werent for the way that her magic feels like a dream caught on the web of her veins she would feel like a lie before him.
It's almost after too long a pause that she finally traces the mapline his eyes made into the sky. There she pauses and wonders at the way Fable dissolves into the black at the same time he's ringed in starlight like a lost, dead god. “I don't know that he would tell me if he did find it,” Her voice is full of something like love when she looks back at the stallion and wonders if his dragon is as troublesome as Fable can be.
Young dragons are something she never read about in stories. They were always acient and full of knownledge enough to devour a hundred civilations. Isra still feels lost in the rasing of a young dragon. She worries that all the hate, and fury, and fear living deep in bones is ruining his innocence. (and sometimes she's so happy that it's saltwater and fish in his belly instead of fire).
Pyrna puffs up into a look she knows well and Isra laughs. The sound of it echoes across the stone, across the saphirre blooming rings around her hooves, like a wish falling through the small silence between them. She laughs and it feels like coming home, like she's been lost to fear for longer than she ever knew. Her skin itches with the freedom of it.
“Welcome then, Kratos. Welcome home.” A candle flickers at her back and freezes there when her magic turns it to a glass scuplture of a caught flame. The marble starts to shimmer more than marble should, like silver merged with diamond. “And have you found your nook yet?” Something in her eyes shines too brightly, too wisely, than a mere unicorn's eyes should shine. Her eyes shine like the sea as she watches him-- dark, endless, and a little like a storm caught.
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