[SE] Catch the Sun Before It Sparks Afire

I am my mother's child, I'll love you till my breathing stops
I'll love you till you call the cops on me

The information about the deities was always intriguing; mostly because her inexperience was obvious, known, a perplexing mix of seeing things from afar – even the beloved Sun God, had never really glanced upon her small, tiny form. Perhaps she didn’t call or claim even attention, wasn’t seen beyond a speck of dust, ash, or embers in their horizon. She tucked the names away for future reference: Safrin, but not much else was signified (and apparently she could simply ask Amalia about that one – the stars, the horizons, the galaxies; wondered if she was much like their old Moon Goddess, though maybe with less wicked nuances and conniving, murdering intentions). Jigano had more experiences with Ludo, so she turned her attention significantly to him, watching the ivory-haired bard as he explained shadow and smoke, scintillating sparks, darkness threading; an image of damnation instead of light-bringers and halcyon days. “Are they cruel?” She asked, furrowing her brow as they mentioned memories, against, and she’d had that before (her mother’s hands around her throat; ghosts and catacombs reaching for their mortal, living brethren, the opposite of what her beloved parent would’ve ever done). “An oracle,” the girl tasted the word on her tongue, nodding at the understanding, the title, the way they embodied messages. “We had those in Helovia too. One for each god to communicate and correspond with.” None of these things had ever been associated with her, of course, too young, too new, too tantalized and exposed to a thousand other myriad segments and notions. “What was it like?” She sipped her water, hummed beneath her breath. Jigano commented about her own land and world, those precious, scattered remnants gone under the wake and weight of fallacy and speciousness now, corrupted despite all its ambience, beauty, and wonder. “It was,” came across on a sigh, on a whisper, a little more downtrodden than she’d intended. “There was an…incident with a roaming God. He tricked a large part of our communities and kingdoms, including our own deities, into destroying our homes. We all ran.” She paused, narrowing her eyes, struggling not to clench her fists together, the roars, the howls, resounding in her head, as clear as the day they’d resounded, the throngs of panic and sorrow, sacrifice after sacrifice. “Have you ever been to the ocean?” She commented, pondering over his background. She would likely compare it to deities: endless and constant, powerful and all-consuming, gentle, tranquil in areas, and some tempestuous, an eternal raging storm (she related, in one frame or another, to its sanctions, born in dust, sand, fire, and flames, but paying her reverence to whatever mighty beacon cascaded before her gaze). It turned out, however, that they’d arrived at the nearly the same time – but he must’ve been far more capable of adjusting than she, already worldly and wise; her sagacity was in survival, the tenuous branches and boughs of endurance and fortitude. “No – the land we all escaped to had different lands and seasons; though it was always somewhat cold.” As if it’d been frozen, detached, forlorn, abandoned, without warmth or hope, without guidance or reason; menacing and minatory, the heat of their evasions and strife keeping them warm. M e l i t a But in our darkest hours, I stumbled on a secret power I'll find a way to be without you, babe