Don't paint wonderful lies on me that wash away
The hardest part was how she did not get tired. Even though the sun set and rose and set again, her mind remained awake. Sharp and clear, capable of thought no matter how many hours snailed past. Sleep would have been a welcome respite from her own thoughts, though it felt rather wrong to be weary already, after only having returned to life a short while ago. Instead, Maea found herself stuck with memories churning in an endless loop, all while she reached and felt for the things she once used to feel, but that were no longer available to her. Like a missing tooth, or chopped off limb aching with phantom pains.
Torchline did not look the same without the sun. With the sky night-black and star-speckled the whispering waves of the sea sounded lonely and distant. She assumed, as she gradually scaled the cliffs beyond the port city, that the wind had a bit of a bite to it now. It should, with the passing of the seasons into Deepfrost, but she could not feel the cold if it really was there. Nor smell the scent of salt and brine, even as it sprayed onto her skin and coated the lips. What a peculiar existence, this Ascension. Not even the darkness was the same, made brighter by sharpened vision... at least that was enhanced rather than suppressed. Why had The Voice found the other senses to be unimportant? A question she would have to ask, when she could no longer find excuses to put off visiting a shrine.
Pale fingers reached up and grasped the edge of a ledge above her head, and with surprisingly little effort she was able to heave herself up over the edge. Having reached the foot of the lighthouse, the slender young woman settled herself in a cranny between two rocks. Leaning back, she gazed out towards the distant horizon, a somber expression reflecting her inner thoughts.
Coming back... was different from what she had expected. Not that she was quite sure what she had been hoping for - aside from the obvious - but... it was still different.
Torchline did not look the same without the sun. With the sky night-black and star-speckled the whispering waves of the sea sounded lonely and distant. She assumed, as she gradually scaled the cliffs beyond the port city, that the wind had a bit of a bite to it now. It should, with the passing of the seasons into Deepfrost, but she could not feel the cold if it really was there. Nor smell the scent of salt and brine, even as it sprayed onto her skin and coated the lips. What a peculiar existence, this Ascension. Not even the darkness was the same, made brighter by sharpened vision... at least that was enhanced rather than suppressed. Why had The Voice found the other senses to be unimportant? A question she would have to ask, when she could no longer find excuses to put off visiting a shrine.
Pale fingers reached up and grasped the edge of a ledge above her head, and with surprisingly little effort she was able to heave herself up over the edge. Having reached the foot of the lighthouse, the slender young woman settled herself in a cranny between two rocks. Leaning back, she gazed out towards the distant horizon, a somber expression reflecting her inner thoughts.
Coming back... was different from what she had expected. Not that she was quite sure what she had been hoping for - aside from the obvious - but... it was still different.
