acres of longing, mountains of tenderness
The shadows curve around her, trying to snuff out her light. Or worse, to steal it - the hard-earned brightness she so dearly clings to, desperate for redemption, to represent the sun. He wants to keep her from being what she can be, to hold here here away from the light.
She doesn't want a shadow. She only wants the light.
You are not mine, the leopard of stars retorts, snarling, snapping, long fangs snatching at the air beside his ear. Along the length of her, life blooms: vibrant green with crimson tips, thorns entwined in the dense dark fur.
She pushes past him, through him, or maybe just against him. He's a shadow; the thorns won't hurt him, but perhaps rejection will. Starlight does not need the shadows. I do not need you.
She doesn't want a shadow. She only wants the light.
You are not mine, the leopard of stars retorts, snarling, snapping, long fangs snatching at the air beside his ear. Along the length of her, life blooms: vibrant green with crimson tips, thorns entwined in the dense dark fur.
She pushes past him, through him, or maybe just against him. He's a shadow; the thorns won't hurt him, but perhaps rejection will. Starlight does not need the shadows. I do not need you.
Amalia
