Hotaru
Our hearts we have sold
For diamonds and gold
For diamonds and gold
Every small dot against the sky is examined, letting hawk sharpness come to her eyes to determine whether it is the man she’s waiting for or a passing creature.
The minutes crawl.
Every second feels like a chafe against her skin. He doesn’t keep her waiting long - he never does - but by time the winds are carrying him to her she feels raw and tight with contained, restless energy. Somewhere in her mind, she knows something is wrong with her. The letter to Sunjata, the sneaking away for what has become far too many days of travel, the way she looks at the twins. She doesn’t even want to name the emotions that strangle her even as she gazes down at her sleeping infants. Ru knows how much she has gained, and yet it feels as if all has been lost. Tiny testaments to her failure that she can neither abandon nor connect with.
Deimos’ touching of her mind comes at just the right moment, yanking her head to the sky like a balloon tugged by its string. Deimos, is the proverbial hand reaching for divinity just out of reach, and the wall around her emotions trembles ominously. He dives, and she rises to meet him, her children bundled and sleeping in the slings she’d re-fashioned into beds. Stepping away from them just to be safe, the woman flings herself into the Sword’s arms as they rise towards her. Nails bite and pierce desperation into the thick of his shoulders as her arms rise up around his ribs. Clawing, pressing, feet scarcely touching grass. The wall crumbles, and behind it is a void, a sinking hole of a depression she can’t control, has never experienced so keenly. Like the flame he has always embodied, Deimos is the only light she can see, and she throws herself upon his pyre for a brief moment of warmth.
Her breath heaves, a sharp keening noise burning her throat as she inhales, his shirt twisting and bunching beneath grasping hands. “Deimos,” she chokes. No other words will come. Heat stabs behind her eyes. Every muscle is cooked and yet shakes as if she’s seizing. Only just managing to refrain from begging him for help - unsure what it is she even needs. He’s here and that should be enough. If she’d lost him…the darkness yawns, fangs bared, skimming across raw nerves with the same terror she’d felt for days before his letter had arrived.
The minutes crawl.
Every second feels like a chafe against her skin. He doesn’t keep her waiting long - he never does - but by time the winds are carrying him to her she feels raw and tight with contained, restless energy. Somewhere in her mind, she knows something is wrong with her. The letter to Sunjata, the sneaking away for what has become far too many days of travel, the way she looks at the twins. She doesn’t even want to name the emotions that strangle her even as she gazes down at her sleeping infants. Ru knows how much she has gained, and yet it feels as if all has been lost. Tiny testaments to her failure that she can neither abandon nor connect with.
Deimos’ touching of her mind comes at just the right moment, yanking her head to the sky like a balloon tugged by its string. Deimos, is the proverbial hand reaching for divinity just out of reach, and the wall around her emotions trembles ominously. He dives, and she rises to meet him, her children bundled and sleeping in the slings she’d re-fashioned into beds. Stepping away from them just to be safe, the woman flings herself into the Sword’s arms as they rise towards her. Nails bite and pierce desperation into the thick of his shoulders as her arms rise up around his ribs. Clawing, pressing, feet scarcely touching grass. The wall crumbles, and behind it is a void, a sinking hole of a depression she can’t control, has never experienced so keenly. Like the flame he has always embodied, Deimos is the only light she can see, and she throws herself upon his pyre for a brief moment of warmth.
Her breath heaves, a sharp keening noise burning her throat as she inhales, his shirt twisting and bunching beneath grasping hands. “Deimos,” she chokes. No other words will come. Heat stabs behind her eyes. Every muscle is cooked and yet shakes as if she’s seizing. Only just managing to refrain from begging him for help - unsure what it is she even needs. He’s here and that should be enough. If she’d lost him…the darkness yawns, fangs bared, skimming across raw nerves with the same terror she’d felt for days before his letter had arrived.
But baby take a look
We have it all
We have it all
