Heartlights

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

She leaned down to brush her fingers over Isuma’s fur, along Fangorn’s hide, a breath sharpening through her lungs. You are more than your mistakes pulsed upon her, on a proffered hand and a sad smile, and she shook her head. No, I’m not she thought back, a pervading beat of intangible, weighty things – she was far less, less, less, a shard of errors and flaws. “I should have protected them better.” It wasn’t a whisper, but a bold, audacious thing sprung upon herself, on a child shoved into a portal by her mother, clinging to last remnants and then dust, on a youth who tried desperately to shield her sibling, who had strived and held it together while the dead reigned and her back was on fire, scorched, and scarred. It had only lasted for so long though – eventually the Rift snagged and took and ensnared, and she’d been left bereft, a fool of her own making, incapable of guarding anyone or anything that mattered. She swallowed down the bile, the tears, the torment, shoving them into her soul to alight them in her anguish, eyes flicking away from the bard and towards the lights, the lanterns, the existence of broken, weary, barbed souls. She couldn’t fathom what he saw – not when the darkness had spread along her skin and flesh, had charred her into embers and ashes, little coals barely burning, yes, she needed to be perfect, she needed to be mighty, she needed to be a force, a monster, a god damned mayhem, an unfurling tempest, a thriving sea, so that no one bothered to touch anything of hers ever again. She’d show the world what it was like to mess with her. But the honeybee girl couldn’t listen to it anymore, as beatific and as grand as Jigano strived, she wouldn’t believe in it – their love had been a blessing, but not something she could hold in her palms anymore – her head swinging back to his, her hands hovering over a proffered alm. “Who are your lanterns for?” She asked in return, more scorching than warm, more infernal than tender. 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