the stars and sea sing to me
The sky burns red against your skin
The world we know turns in the wind
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The world we know turns in the wind
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This was not a fairytale spoke to Aehra upon her childhood bedside, by either of her lovely mothers who spun her stories of their old gods—the lands they’d left behind. Too many times, she had fallen asleep to the slumbering gurgle of a river hymn, but never a folktale such as this land’s.
When she lays eyes upon the glass tree, it is from a distance. Standing upon the apex of a slope amid the plain, the grass tickling the fetlocks as her narrow chest heaves. From afar, it appears that the deep roots that burrow into the ground and sprout into bark-made-mirror might, perhaps, be kindred to her. Another opal in this wild, strange place.
But where the tree is beautiful, Aehra is not bold enough to coin herself the same.
She doesn’t know that it sprouted overnight—that it’s a novelty to this plain that once rolled smoothly, unbothered by the perfection of its newborn companion. To her, it is a monument—something so lovely must surely be.
Her eyes watch, soft and unsure, as another horse inquisitively approaches the tree’s base, their head tipping heavenward. So captivated was she by the splendor of its trunk, Aehra had barely noticed the blood ret petals that unfurl from its branches, set alight by crimson sunsets and wild poppies. It’s enough to make her breath quicken, her lips parting in wonder, as she manages a smile.
Still, the girl doesn’t dare to draw closer. The tree is a lantern—she is a moth. And no matter her hunger for adventure, her thirst for the unknown, she does not dare brush against that which surely must have been given by gods.
Speech
***STAFF EDIT
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@aehra has been awarded +1EXP!
