i searched the world to find you
The island.
It is Antiope’s siren song, her kryptonite.
It comes and she cannot help but go to it, again, and again, and again.
When it had dropped into the sea she had thought she was done with the island and all of its otherworldly magic that felt like an affinity to her, that felt like it had reached inside her and made a world out of all the strangeness in her veins.
The island is here, and Antiope can hear the whispers of it. They have passed her on the street every day, filled with awe and disbelief and uncertainty. So she crosses the bridge, and every step brings her closer to something that feels like knowing, or understanding. If she can only know the island and all the ways it is extraordinary and beautiful, maybe she can know the magic inside her and why it is wild and so unlike how it should be. Maybe she can control it better.
When she takes the first step onto the island, it is like stepping into another world. The Denoctian Regent tells herself there is no way this is the same island that had once stood in this place. Nothing is familiar, and her heart is beating wildly like a bird attempting to escape from a cage. It is all pristine and white and sparkling in the light, the only disturbance to the snow are the sharp shadows and shapes of trees bearing the weight of snow upon their limbs.
It is like her, like the sharp contrast of all her marble white splashed against her earth striped skin. Her sapphire eyes are the winter sea, lazily embracing the shore. Why is she here? This place is inside her, in her bones, and she cannot get rid of it. So she presses forward, and all the red on her is like blood on the snow, marrying this wonderland with visions of battlefields and death.
The trees envelop her like a gentle caress the further into the island she goes, low branches brushing their fingers across her back. The snow is cold but she is burning, burning, yearning. And then, from out of the trees dashes a light. It goes weaving through bushes and branches faster than almost her eyes can track it. She nearly loses it in the glare of the sun off the sparkling white blanket covering everything.
Then, there is another, and another. They float past her as if on a wind that she cannot feel, deeper into the forest. If the island is her siren call, then surely these are the sirens, but Antiope follows them regardless, that trio of little dancing lights, wherever they may lead her.
"Speaking."
It is Antiope’s siren song, her kryptonite.
It comes and she cannot help but go to it, again, and again, and again.
When it had dropped into the sea she had thought she was done with the island and all of its otherworldly magic that felt like an affinity to her, that felt like it had reached inside her and made a world out of all the strangeness in her veins.
The island is here, and Antiope can hear the whispers of it. They have passed her on the street every day, filled with awe and disbelief and uncertainty. So she crosses the bridge, and every step brings her closer to something that feels like knowing, or understanding. If she can only know the island and all the ways it is extraordinary and beautiful, maybe she can know the magic inside her and why it is wild and so unlike how it should be. Maybe she can control it better.
When she takes the first step onto the island, it is like stepping into another world. The Denoctian Regent tells herself there is no way this is the same island that had once stood in this place. Nothing is familiar, and her heart is beating wildly like a bird attempting to escape from a cage. It is all pristine and white and sparkling in the light, the only disturbance to the snow are the sharp shadows and shapes of trees bearing the weight of snow upon their limbs.
It is like her, like the sharp contrast of all her marble white splashed against her earth striped skin. Her sapphire eyes are the winter sea, lazily embracing the shore. Why is she here? This place is inside her, in her bones, and she cannot get rid of it. So she presses forward, and all the red on her is like blood on the snow, marrying this wonderland with visions of battlefields and death.
The trees envelop her like a gentle caress the further into the island she goes, low branches brushing their fingers across her back. The snow is cold but she is burning, burning, yearning. And then, from out of the trees dashes a light. It goes weaving through bushes and branches faster than almost her eyes can track it. She nearly loses it in the glare of the sun off the sparkling white blanket covering everything.
Then, there is another, and another. They float past her as if on a wind that she cannot feel, deeper into the forest. If the island is her siren call, then surely these are the sirens, but Antiope follows them regardless, that trio of little dancing lights, wherever they may lead her.
![[Image: 13716916_Rc8f5hGvZkB3cYP.png]](https://file.toyhou.se/images/13716916_Rc8f5hGvZkB3cYP.png)
a war is calling
the tides are turned
the tides are turned
