like the holding of hands
like the breaking of glass
like the breaking of glass
T
he meadows sways underneath the hungry light of day’s end. Everything is pink and orange and honeyed tones, soft and ethereal as darkness forms like a bruise on the horizon. The stars glisten in their beds, winking in the hazy wisp of clouds that deepen and deepen. She feels the brush of flowers against her legs as she walks, against the tips of her wings as she lowers them to gently glide amongst the long stalks. They whirl with her passing, with the breath of autumn’s chill that charges the air; each step sends their petals dancing in the delicate breeze.There is a certain sense of peace she feels when she is in the meadow, surrounded by the sweet hum of animals and the world around her. She's found less and less of it these days.
It's never for a lack of trying.
The Court is always filled with noise, with the hustle and bustle of citizens coming and going.
That was why she came out at night, to escape for an hour or two as the sky shifted from day to night and everything around her slowly drowned into silence. This time though, she was not the only one in the meadow.
“Uncle Po!” she chirps as he nears. Her voice feels too loud in the calm of the meadow. “What are you doing out here?” She asks him, softer, her tone hushed as she comes closer to the Sovereign.
@Ipomoea | "speaks" | notes: text
