to be lit up from within
vein by vein
Light; once bountiful and plenty, depths of warmth and vitality, a blissful radiance from his entity. She wondered, briefly, if he’d simply gave off so much over such an expanse of time that it fizzled and erupted, burst into flames, burnt at both ends, exhausted in its capacity, in its constant need. Where did yours go? She could’ve guessed, surmounted where it all swayed and severed; she’d been there at the Fiat Lux festival, her legs broken, crawling across the fields, listening to the screams, striving for something other than a hellhole. Where little Aoife had been punctured and pierced just like the rest of them. Or maybe it was something else entirely; a lead, a beginning to an end. A path curled in rubble and ruin, forgoing and forgetting the roads of ambience – because the darkness was so pressing, so looming. She'd willingly give him her boldness, her entanglements of fire and vitriol, if he'd wanted them.And to lose hers? I won’t, she would’ve promised, had their thoughts paralleled, had she of known. I will burn and I will avenge.
Her eyes watched the movement of his ring, the clarity coiling through the air. Sent there. She didn’t smile in the hues of his venom, in the stark void of his irritation. “I’m sure he’ll succeed.” Faith in the steadfastness of a Star; but didn’t want to negate the danger, the impending damnation of the Grounds this time of year. They both knew. They’d both experienced it enough. So she meant to distract instead. “I only saw Safrin one other time,” aside from their group meeting, where they asked for guidance and support.
His grin in return took away the weight in her chest, and her smirk embedded further, much more Cheshire and delighted. “It’s very odd. Sunjata prepared the house just in case.” Out of habits and routines, as if they should’ve been doing something for LongNight – the tales of no monsters not sitting well with former Grounders, meant to expect the worst. “Do you have plans for Flowerbirth?”
to be the sun
MELITA
