"we know where to find the white spaces,
we live in magic."
we live in magic."
Isra is burning like the lanterns rising into the sky wishing to be stars. She is smoldering and smoking and she's not sure what will be left of in the ash of all the black things roiling in her like tide.
Although this will always be her home (she has forsaken the primordial sea for a sky of constellations), when she looks at the warrior and cannot bring herself to smile again, she knows that they are the same. If only a little-- they are the same.
“I wouldn't call it naivety.” She says and for a moment she feels older than her skin, like all her bones are filled with cobwebs instead of marrow. There is nothing she understands better than turmoil, and sorrow, and the way hope twists and chokes them both. “If it really is about coming home, or hope, turmoil is the best night sky on which a lantern should be lit. Maybe tonight the moon is listening to the sound of suffering and sending back to us something other than moonbeams.” Her smile returns then, shallow but bright with white teeth and caught firelight.
Isra lets her gaze fall, pointedly, to the half-moon of smoke left behind when Morrighan lifts her hoof from the stone. It rises between them like a small prayer, smaller than the bonfires, but large enough that neither of them could call it a trick of the mind. A tiny dragon cuts through the smoke between them and Isra wants to follow it and learn all the secrets of her city. There are so many she doesn't know yet and more heartbeats she needs to learn the pattern of.
She looks back at Morrighan with her small smoke and thinks that the warrior is the perfect place to start. The shallow smile on her face brightens to a moonbeam instead of a mirror. “Don't you believe in magic?”
And when the ground around her turns into wood, pitted and old, waiting to catch, something shines in her eyes. Magic maybe, or mystery. Whatever it is smolders.
@morrighan // <3
