Mad disquietude in a lifeless sky (part 2)

“Ilham?” I repeat quietly and since she wasn’t forthcoming in vivid details…intuition takes a tentative shot, “your companion?” query brows arch and whiskers quiver, flinging droplets of moisture from their length. Grumbling accusations wail their internal remorse; they flood my inquisitive side with the urge to find relief from swollen penitence. Disappointment wasn't a strong enough adjective to measure my sorrow for this...broken, twisted world. This isn't the life we envisioned for her. An inheritance of purgatory certainly wasn’t the legacy we pained to secure… The mystery of her life weighs heavily; how many years worth of stories? Fate has obviously skirted the traditional sense that eternity was to be our destined palaver ground; and despite how my reemergence into flesh has summoned further anguish...I'm selfishly unapologetic for stumbling on the curse of mortality. Beholding the child of our union with mortal eyes, sampling her damp fragrance on the arid breeze…tis breathtaking...additionally, there is much in that previous existence that begs closure. Irritably, my thoughts resist venturing further along those unexplored pathways...for the moment, they choose the less cluttered route…nar, a cowardly escape. “Where are the birds…?” that cast-off inquiry leads into further remarks which unveil an entirely different struggle…panic, “nothing here...is...” golden optics shift, angling to catch her within their scope, “familiar…” A fresh recollection of the toothy, humongous slugs reappear while my logical subconscious attempts to continuously rationalize our situation. It wasn’t just a habitat change, foreign plants and animals…nar...every living thing that walked in the woods, swam or flew below those gloomy, weeping clouds…they weren’t like anything I’ve ever seen before. “Zahra,” irises lift, imploring, “what have you learned of this place?” Aside from the obvious plague of perpetual rain; or how the native creatures wail at twilight…or that the oversaturated smog pulses like a heartbeat. Writhing and baring unseen fangs – draining lifeforce and magic. @Zahra

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