Solanis
04-04-2018, 10:48 AM
You've not been prone to feeling hopeless before; you've known that life has its ebbs and flows, just like the tide, and while you've always poured yourself, heart and mind and soul, into the task of healing, accepting that death is inevitable has been vital. It doesn't matter how much the thunder rumbles if the blood is leaving faster than you can knit the veins back together; it doesn't matter how much the thunder rumbles, if the heart is already silent. You know this, and while being bested by death has always frustrated you, it has never made you feel helpless. Powerless.
But the Rift, and the way you came here, has done things to you. You realize that as you're standing in a dying garden of magical flowers, something burning suspiciously in the back of your throat and eyes—tears. If you can't even do this one damn thing—
Like you couldn't do anything else you were supposed to—
And you keep losing Taivas—
But the stranger's strategy works, even for you. Once you've uprooted the bad flower those surrounding it sigh and flicker and glow, free of the poison, of the drain on their energy; instead of fighting a slow, creeping death, they can focus on glowing like the small suns they are.
It's not in you to be bitter that someone else had the cure—you're just grateful that it was something you could help with. The golden glow bathes the underside of your dark neck as you raise your head, blinking away tears of relief, to peer at the sleek, black thing bounding from one patch to the other, digging up the bad flowers with more ease than you had. He needs a name, you think, but nothing comes to you; he's fleet and beautiful and ethereal, which makes him intangible to your mind. A shadow.
A name will come, but not today. You step, carefully, to the next darkening patch, repeating the process from before. Rinse and repeat; your mind sinks into the task, until you find yourself at the edge of a glowing, humming field. You've worked your way through the affected area, and as you turn to look behind you, there's only a golden, glowing sea.
You've done it—all of you, together. Dragon Man notices it too, turning towards you with a big grin; you respond with a smile, bright but small, trying to wrap your head around the change you've helped to bring. You want to stay, and bask in the moment, but he's already moving away. The fleet stranger bounces up to K'yarie, touching her, before bounding to you, and doing the same. His nose is soft, and you give him a smile, too, eyes warm. Then you follow them back to the beach, marveling at the glow adorning all of you.
But the Rift, and the way you came here, has done things to you. You realize that as you're standing in a dying garden of magical flowers, something burning suspiciously in the back of your throat and eyes—tears. If you can't even do this one damn thing—
Like you couldn't do anything else you were supposed to—
And you keep losing Taivas—
But the stranger's strategy works, even for you. Once you've uprooted the bad flower those surrounding it sigh and flicker and glow, free of the poison, of the drain on their energy; instead of fighting a slow, creeping death, they can focus on glowing like the small suns they are.
It's not in you to be bitter that someone else had the cure—you're just grateful that it was something you could help with. The golden glow bathes the underside of your dark neck as you raise your head, blinking away tears of relief, to peer at the sleek, black thing bounding from one patch to the other, digging up the bad flowers with more ease than you had. He needs a name, you think, but nothing comes to you; he's fleet and beautiful and ethereal, which makes him intangible to your mind. A shadow.
A name will come, but not today. You step, carefully, to the next darkening patch, repeating the process from before. Rinse and repeat; your mind sinks into the task, until you find yourself at the edge of a glowing, humming field. You've worked your way through the affected area, and as you turn to look behind you, there's only a golden, glowing sea.
You've done it—all of you, together. Dragon Man notices it too, turning towards you with a big grin; you respond with a smile, bright but small, trying to wrap your head around the change you've helped to bring. You want to stay, and bask in the moment, but he's already moving away. The fleet stranger bounces up to K'yarie, touching her, before bounding to you, and doing the same. His nose is soft, and you give him a smile, too, eyes warm. Then you follow them back to the beach, marveling at the glow adorning all of you.
