I miss the days when I had a smile on my face
Iskra was not normally so vulnerable. He spent most of his life actively avoiding the raw feeling of exposing himself, even to himself. Life hurt enough, no need to show your soft spots and let it dig in deep. Walls, denial, and space - those were the defenses that kept you safe. He supposed that was why he'd never said most of this out loud, had never analyzed it beyond recognizing it and immediately shoving it away from his conscious thought. It was why he'd never heard anyone else talk about it either. He'd never bothered to ask, or listen.
He'd always known he was not the only one with grief perched on his shoulder, feeding it morsels of despair as it croaked in your ear. It was one thing to know it and something else entirely to witness the scattered feathers and shit-stained shoulders of another with the wretched companion. Hell, he even saw those dark wings of despair rise above this hollowed man. Iskra blinked, rubbing at his eyes.
Sunjata listed them off, one horrible loss in his life after the next. It could easily feel like the ugliest race in the world, each of them competing for the shittiest trophy imaginable, but it did not strike the woodcutter as such. Instead, he found a growing light blossoming inside him, a warmth that reached a tentative hand from the cold that he'd gathered around his shoulders in mistake of a comfortable shawl. Sharing in this tragedy of existence, it was a comfort. The world often felt so depthless and terrible, as if no thought or deed could alter the oppressive weight of it as it pushed in day after day. Yet, they were not alone in this tremendous dark. They need not be strong enough to beat it, just to be strong enough to grasp onto one another and endure it. Together, they could do more than weather it. They could create something lovely, happy memories and bright laughter. It wouldn't erase the grief, nothing would, but it would settle beside it, and you would grow instead of shrink. That's what love was.
Iskra had frowned deeper with each terrible tale, goosebumps racing along his skin by the time the Flood concluded. "Cursed to live," Iskra sighed, agreeing. "I used to think it shouldn't be like this - hard. I thought it was owed to us that it be wonderful and gentle. That we should be comfortable and warm and content." He laughed far too hard for a moment at that. "I think mothers just have a habit of making it that way for their children. The truth is there's barely a soft thing to living. Everything is tooth and claw to survive another day." It almost doesn't feel worth it, some days. Yet somehow he kept waking up and dealing with it. "Death seems easier," he admitted softly. "Softer. Quieter. Kinder."
He looked up, for those piercing blue eyes that Sunjata had, wondering briefly if this man of loss had ever felt that way, too. "But then, so much would be missed." Life was terrible, but it was all you got, and there was so much to be made of it.
"Can I see it?" he said after a beat, his voice lighter than it had been so far. "Your pegasus shift." Another thoughtful pause before a boyish wonder filled him. "Does it hurt? All your bones rearranging?" It had always freaked him out a little bit to be honest.
He'd always known he was not the only one with grief perched on his shoulder, feeding it morsels of despair as it croaked in your ear. It was one thing to know it and something else entirely to witness the scattered feathers and shit-stained shoulders of another with the wretched companion. Hell, he even saw those dark wings of despair rise above this hollowed man. Iskra blinked, rubbing at his eyes.
Sunjata listed them off, one horrible loss in his life after the next. It could easily feel like the ugliest race in the world, each of them competing for the shittiest trophy imaginable, but it did not strike the woodcutter as such. Instead, he found a growing light blossoming inside him, a warmth that reached a tentative hand from the cold that he'd gathered around his shoulders in mistake of a comfortable shawl. Sharing in this tragedy of existence, it was a comfort. The world often felt so depthless and terrible, as if no thought or deed could alter the oppressive weight of it as it pushed in day after day. Yet, they were not alone in this tremendous dark. They need not be strong enough to beat it, just to be strong enough to grasp onto one another and endure it. Together, they could do more than weather it. They could create something lovely, happy memories and bright laughter. It wouldn't erase the grief, nothing would, but it would settle beside it, and you would grow instead of shrink. That's what love was.
Iskra had frowned deeper with each terrible tale, goosebumps racing along his skin by the time the Flood concluded. "Cursed to live," Iskra sighed, agreeing. "I used to think it shouldn't be like this - hard. I thought it was owed to us that it be wonderful and gentle. That we should be comfortable and warm and content." He laughed far too hard for a moment at that. "I think mothers just have a habit of making it that way for their children. The truth is there's barely a soft thing to living. Everything is tooth and claw to survive another day." It almost doesn't feel worth it, some days. Yet somehow he kept waking up and dealing with it. "Death seems easier," he admitted softly. "Softer. Quieter. Kinder."
He looked up, for those piercing blue eyes that Sunjata had, wondering briefly if this man of loss had ever felt that way, too. "But then, so much would be missed." Life was terrible, but it was all you got, and there was so much to be made of it.
"Can I see it?" he said after a beat, his voice lighter than it had been so far. "Your pegasus shift." Another thoughtful pause before a boyish wonder filled him. "Does it hurt? All your bones rearranging?" It had always freaked him out a little bit to be honest.
Iskra
