it's fine to fake it 'till you make it
Wings spread, Artemide stares expectantly at Deimos with eyes wide and brimming with fracturing stars. Through the house, the bird slips, able to somehow open doors and even windows so as best to lead the Sword out into the darkening night where not one but two moons now prominently shine overhead. There is a path through the Citadel made of twisting trees and rich soil that certainly does not belong in Halo. As the owl flies through beckoning for the warrior to follow, a starbright pulse of light blooms in a clearing at the end of the path.
//
Perched expectantly on the edge of Ronin ‘s bed, the owl gives no response other than to star with cosmically dark eyes made infinite by the fractured stars within. On silent wings Artemide exits the houseboat, somehow able to evade the notice of husbands or companions alike, and though the ocean encircles The Northaven, there is a pathway of twisted silver-dark trees around a path of rich brown for the Supernova to walk upon. As Artemide flies down the path, a ball of starlight pulses near the end, illuminating faintly a clearing.
//
Silvery grasses billow beneath the touch of a frigid wind as the light in the clearing has dimmed to nearly nothing. Above two moons shine brightly, though one seems to scream its light rather than to glow with it. In a puddle of shadow as thick as mud, lays the unmoving body of Safrin. Devoid of clothing as well as feature, she is little more than pale light stretched over a frame that looks almost too thin to hold a soul much less the power of a goddess.
//
Perched expectantly on the edge of Ronin ‘s bed, the owl gives no response other than to star with cosmically dark eyes made infinite by the fractured stars within. On silent wings Artemide exits the houseboat, somehow able to evade the notice of husbands or companions alike, and though the ocean encircles The Northaven, there is a pathway of twisted silver-dark trees around a path of rich brown for the Supernova to walk upon. As Artemide flies down the path, a ball of starlight pulses near the end, illuminating faintly a clearing.
//
Silvery grasses billow beneath the touch of a frigid wind as the light in the clearing has dimmed to nearly nothing. Above two moons shine brightly, though one seems to scream its light rather than to glow with it. In a puddle of shadow as thick as mud, lays the unmoving body of Safrin. Devoid of clothing as well as feature, she is little more than pale light stretched over a frame that looks almost too thin to hold a soul much less the power of a goddess.
'till you do. 'till it's true.
