in tenebris est veritas.
The crust of salt on wet hair.
Chaele marches up the cliffside hill, the warm air whipping at their ornamented hair. The stems of decayed autumn leaves chime and crack against thorny brambles and chipping clay beads as they keep their head low, their skull mask protecting their face from the high, hot breeze. They pause only once, to crouch and retrieve a small dark stone which they will begin to press between palm and thumb.
Bare feet on mossy rocks.
Memories move in front of eyes that are cast down toward the soggy grass beneath their boots. Why else would they come to such a place, if not for recollection's sake? There had been happier times in their life. Simpler, maskless, more hopeful times. Smells and sounds inspire the memories, but they could have pushed them aside if they wanted to. Instead, they led them here.
Brown eyes, like a pair of murky tide pools.
Finally they see the water beyond, bright and blue. It almost looks like it could be warm beneath this pale sky, but they know better. The ocean itself is a siren’s song, beckoning an unwitting traveler to swim out too far. And for a moment they consider trying it, if only to make the memories stop. But as they reach the lighthouse and put a hand on the weathered stone, they figure not all reminiscences are so bad.
Hands, touching for the first time.
Chaele marches up the cliffside hill, the warm air whipping at their ornamented hair. The stems of decayed autumn leaves chime and crack against thorny brambles and chipping clay beads as they keep their head low, their skull mask protecting their face from the high, hot breeze. They pause only once, to crouch and retrieve a small dark stone which they will begin to press between palm and thumb.
Bare feet on mossy rocks.
Memories move in front of eyes that are cast down toward the soggy grass beneath their boots. Why else would they come to such a place, if not for recollection's sake? There had been happier times in their life. Simpler, maskless, more hopeful times. Smells and sounds inspire the memories, but they could have pushed them aside if they wanted to. Instead, they led them here.
Brown eyes, like a pair of murky tide pools.
Finally they see the water beyond, bright and blue. It almost looks like it could be warm beneath this pale sky, but they know better. The ocean itself is a siren’s song, beckoning an unwitting traveler to swim out too far. And for a moment they consider trying it, if only to make the memories stop. But as they reach the lighthouse and put a hand on the weathered stone, they figure not all reminiscences are so bad.
Hands, touching for the first time.
