[o] upon whom the pale moon gleams

With no one wearing their real face It's a whiteout of emotion

As one who spent too much time in her own shadows, Maea could only nod, understanding a painful yet oddly bracing sensation. Like stepping into a crisp winter's day, before the cheeks had a chance to numb to the wind. She thought the slight differences in perspective between them actually helped her see clearer... and for once, in a rare turn of events, she didn't struggle at all to understand what this person was saying.

"It is slow work," she agreed, grateful when he didn't call it impossible or unnecessary. "I do feel hopeful, most of the time... I have good people around me who help me remember what's important. Apparently there are some good parts I'm not supposed to lose in the renovation." Her mouth quirked aside, expressing a dry sort of humor that didn't shy away from reality but tried to roll with it, to accept what couldn't be changed and learn to appreciate the good things. Even in herself. Even when she still struggled to see them.

"Indeed." As she quieted, considering what else to add, a sound of a voice on the wind had her straightening where she sat. It was too dark to see the skyship, but there was a note of beckoning in the way the person called and waited, demanding but not quite rushed. "Is that for you?" she asked, cocking her head at the man; not without regret. This had been a nice conversation, and she would be sad to see it end so soon.

And I've only got my brittle bones to break the fall

Maea

Damien

and every demon wants his pound of flesh
but i like to keep some things to myself

Damien’s head lifted at the call, the faint thread of sound tugging him back to the present. He stood quiet for a beat longer than necessary, jaw set like he was reluctant to break whatever had settled between them here by the shrine. Finally, he exhaled, short and sharp, the kind of breath a man takes when he’s about to turn his back on something that mattered more than he expected.

“Yeah,” he said, the word weighted, not rushed. “That's for me.” He glanced toward the sound, then back at her. The wind dragged a strand of hair across his brow, and he didn’t bother to push it away. "I'm Damien, by the way.”

The corner of his mouth pulled, not quite a smile, but less grim than before. “Hope you find what you’re looking for. Or at least make some peace with the parts that won’t change. Takes guts to even try.”

He gave the shrine one last flicker of a look—where the antler lay pale among the bones—then turned, shoulders settling as though he was slipping a weight back into place. “Safe travels,” he added, low, and started toward the voice that called him, the sand swallowing his steps as he went.

With no one wearing their real face It's a whiteout of emotion

"I see." Soft regret mellowed her tone. Tracing a pattern through the cold sand at her feet, she bit her tongue to keep quiet, swallowing down the impulse to ask if he could linger. Who knew when the next ship would pass by? Better to let go, however much she would prefer to keep talking.

"Thank you. I'm Maea. If you ever feel a need to talk about your trapper again, come find me in the Greatwood." Dusting off her hands, the petite woman rose to her feet as the man - Damien - turned to leave. "To you as well." 

Sending him off with a waved hand, she watched him go until darkness swallowed his silhouette, and finally turned to walk off in the opposite direction. He had given her some things to think about; certainly she wouldn't find herself bored for the remainder of the night that otherwise looked to be fairly uneventful. Knock on wood.



[FIN]

And I've only got my brittle bones to break the fall

Maea