i'm tired of the weight of mortality, i want to tear it from my veins
until i bleed silver and gold
Now that her hands and arms work again, now that her face is fixed and ribs are back in place, she finds she can get around much easier. It’s a relief she didn’t know she needed until it had happened – and the possibility, probability of getting her eyesight back gives her as much hope as she needs to return to as close to her old self as she can. And while Bastien shutters up the doors, she lounges on one of the couches, legs dangling off the edge while she fiddles with some fabric, transmuting it slightly so it’s nice and soft, adjusting the edges that she can feel in a slight makeshift attempt at something akin to crochet in her blinded state.
And she listens while Bastien paints, enjoying the time spent with him while they both work to their tasks, until he poises a question to her that she tilts her head toward him with – a bright fanged smile crossing her lips. “Mmmm…. Blue.” She announces. “Like lightning.” Any time she had seen her goddess, she’s always appeared vibrant and blue, beautiful and strong, electrifying and unbelievable.
Her legs bounce along the side of the couch while she returns to her little fiddling, contemplating it further. “It’s… Like a warm blue, though.” She’s definitely not an artist here, not like he is and she’s uncertain how to explain her thoughts. “Like when I see the blue from her, it’s never cold. It’s a welcoming blue. What do you think, Love?” She asks, reaching an edge again and warping and crimping it slightly before she goes to hook it through again.
And she listens while Bastien paints, enjoying the time spent with him while they both work to their tasks, until he poises a question to her that she tilts her head toward him with – a bright fanged smile crossing her lips. “Mmmm…. Blue.” She announces. “Like lightning.” Any time she had seen her goddess, she’s always appeared vibrant and blue, beautiful and strong, electrifying and unbelievable.
Her legs bounce along the side of the couch while she returns to her little fiddling, contemplating it further. “It’s… Like a warm blue, though.” She’s definitely not an artist here, not like he is and she’s uncertain how to explain her thoughts. “Like when I see the blue from her, it’s never cold. It’s a welcoming blue. What do you think, Love?” She asks, reaching an edge again and warping and crimping it slightly before she goes to hook it through again.
maybe one day they'll chant our names
and name galaxies after us, and we too shall be eternal
REXANNA
