Lena
and sweetest in the gale is heard
and sore must be the storm
and sore must be the storm
She could have gone anywhere else for these moments, but the Caretaker stuck to the Celestine. Maybe in comfort. Maybe in companionship with the surrounding animals; listening to them slumber, sitting on stone, leaning against an enclosure, closing her eyes and picturing things the way they once were. Patterns she’d never have again.
An absence she couldn’t quite replace – and so her hands traced over the wood and metal pieces she’d selected for the lantern – visual semblances of what Sera could’ve made and whittled so easily. Instead, Lena had bartered for them in the markets, and they’d all glanced away from one another, understanding how many others would be made because of Towers falling and Ascended attacking.
Perhaps she should’ve worn hate or malice, instead of reserved grins and grief. Perhaps it would come eventually, when the hurt wasn’t so blinding. Perhaps it wouldn’t at all, because that wasn’t who she was.
Taking her paints, she dipped one of the finer brushes into ivory, and began to mark over the black enamel, in an outline of a dragon.
An absence she couldn’t quite replace – and so her hands traced over the wood and metal pieces she’d selected for the lantern – visual semblances of what Sera could’ve made and whittled so easily. Instead, Lena had bartered for them in the markets, and they’d all glanced away from one another, understanding how many others would be made because of Towers falling and Ascended attacking.
Perhaps she should’ve worn hate or malice, instead of reserved grins and grief. Perhaps it would come eventually, when the hurt wasn’t so blinding. Perhaps it wouldn’t at all, because that wasn’t who she was.
Taking her paints, she dipped one of the finer brushes into ivory, and began to mark over the black enamel, in an outline of a dragon.
that could abash the little bird
that kept so many warm
that kept so many warm
