04-10-2020, 04:41 PM
Noctua had a pleasant voice. A voice made for stories. Its cadence lulled her and drew her close, if the words themselves did not always blossom understanding. What bleak beauty! She did not worry for her soul, and she did not know how to explain how tightly her thread was bound to the endless turn of the wheel. Death cut her loose, when it happened, and she did not covet those turnings for they left her drifting and anchorless; far removed from even the solidity of her presence now. Where did other souls go while they awaited the right turning? She did not know. But she did not believe in a world caged by the sacrifice he spoke of. Comfortless and cold, and beholden only to faith.
She was pensive as he spoke, willing to listen, absorbing what she heard carefully and slowly, and only able to hold so much.
He took her hand. Nim was unusually quiet now, the profundity of the conversation beginning to unravel all sorts of thoughts inside, most of them pressing a small frown between her brow. Moral dilemma was not a preoccupation of hers, but led so sweetly into those waters she did consider it, and the half-seen tapestry of her long past made her shiver.
Satisfied with too little.
Oh, but she felt herself begin to seep apart now, like she was suddenly too filled to the brim with everything, churning with the mud and water and blood of so many lives. Tears tracked her cheeks. His grip alone tethered her; that and his plea. But when he knelt her gaze widened in alarm. Nim stumbled to her own knees after him, like she could not bear the dissonance, while all around them the neat apartment began to flicker and scrawl and fluctuate with crawling, creeping images. Past, present and future spun, until the walls themselves dissolved like acid. “The earth bites at my feet,” she cried. “Light but it burns. An ending comes.”
She moved forward like a crashing wave in a bid that he hold on tightly, arms flung unceremoniously around his neck, face buried. Her heart hammered. Her eyes scrunched shut. It grew very cold, as if ice kissed their passage, but like a puff of arctic wind they were blown onwards without capture. She did not move for a while after everything grew still, and then at first it was only to lean back on her heels and blink tear-smudged eyes. Noctua seemed whole still. She was too. Her hair had unravelled down her shoulders, free of its braids, and dead petals drifted into her palm, almost colourless, like they belonged to some other world. As soon as they hit flesh they shrivelled and disappeared.
Her chin lifted. The dream was usually a place of endless twilight, but warm sun lit her cheeks instead. Verdancy surrounded them, and bright bursts of strange flower even she could not name. The grove she had shown Noctua appeared in infancy compared to this, a place civilization’s shadow appeared to have never even touched at all. When she pushed to her feet, the ground left a greenish impression where her skirts had pressed into the lush earth, and it did not answer to the whim that would have erased it ignored. They were in a pocket then, but not, she did not think, of the Grey Lady’s creation. Beholden to who, though? Or what? Noctua may not notice, and she did not want to scare him with their new powerlessness in this world, so she said nothing. Despite her tear-stained face a dazzling smile worked its way to her lips. Curiosity burgeoned barely contained. She offered a distracted hand to help him to his feet should he need it. Their passage this time had been frightening, even to her.
“I have never seen this place,” she said as he found his feet. Her fingers squeezed some comfort, and then released. Nim twirled in place so that she might see everything at once, apparently unafraid of such a beautiful unknown. Very little ever felt new to her as this did. Like the release of a rushing brook burst from old banks, she explored. Her palms brushed leaves, her mood washed clean, occasionally pausing to ensure Noctua stayed with her.
“Hello?” she called soft into the wildness. There was precious little sense of human here, but plainly she expected the answer of something. “The old ones stir,” she murmured, half to herself. Joy sprung at the epiphany, and her steps bounded off, hopeful that Noctua would find it in him to enjoy the exhilaration of it, but mindful that he was likely to hold more sedate inquiry of their surroundings. She did not stray far ahead. Around them their environment seemed to shiver and react. Branches leaned curiously and under no apparent wind to follow their progress. Flowers peeped their glorious petals as if to observe the sun, but shyly pointed instead after their ponderous journey into the heart of this place.
Unil, ahead, something thrust from the earth like a felled tree, utterly branchless. Vines wound around like a cage, obscuring its surface. Her curious steps slowed to inspect it, though she instinctively did not touch the grey stone she could see peering beneath the foliage. She stooped instead, head tilted, curls pooling over one shoulder. Some distant memory fought to surface, but faded beneath the waves. Something around them moved, ponderously slow. It caught the peripheral of her attention. ”Hello, ancient one,” she said again. She straightened to beam at Noctua, then searched for their company.
She was pensive as he spoke, willing to listen, absorbing what she heard carefully and slowly, and only able to hold so much.
He took her hand. Nim was unusually quiet now, the profundity of the conversation beginning to unravel all sorts of thoughts inside, most of them pressing a small frown between her brow. Moral dilemma was not a preoccupation of hers, but led so sweetly into those waters she did consider it, and the half-seen tapestry of her long past made her shiver.
Satisfied with too little.
Oh, but she felt herself begin to seep apart now, like she was suddenly too filled to the brim with everything, churning with the mud and water and blood of so many lives. Tears tracked her cheeks. His grip alone tethered her; that and his plea. But when he knelt her gaze widened in alarm. Nim stumbled to her own knees after him, like she could not bear the dissonance, while all around them the neat apartment began to flicker and scrawl and fluctuate with crawling, creeping images. Past, present and future spun, until the walls themselves dissolved like acid. “The earth bites at my feet,” she cried. “Light but it burns. An ending comes.”
She moved forward like a crashing wave in a bid that he hold on tightly, arms flung unceremoniously around his neck, face buried. Her heart hammered. Her eyes scrunched shut. It grew very cold, as if ice kissed their passage, but like a puff of arctic wind they were blown onwards without capture. She did not move for a while after everything grew still, and then at first it was only to lean back on her heels and blink tear-smudged eyes. Noctua seemed whole still. She was too. Her hair had unravelled down her shoulders, free of its braids, and dead petals drifted into her palm, almost colourless, like they belonged to some other world. As soon as they hit flesh they shrivelled and disappeared.
Her chin lifted. The dream was usually a place of endless twilight, but warm sun lit her cheeks instead. Verdancy surrounded them, and bright bursts of strange flower even she could not name. The grove she had shown Noctua appeared in infancy compared to this, a place civilization’s shadow appeared to have never even touched at all. When she pushed to her feet, the ground left a greenish impression where her skirts had pressed into the lush earth, and it did not answer to the whim that would have erased it ignored. They were in a pocket then, but not, she did not think, of the Grey Lady’s creation. Beholden to who, though? Or what? Noctua may not notice, and she did not want to scare him with their new powerlessness in this world, so she said nothing. Despite her tear-stained face a dazzling smile worked its way to her lips. Curiosity burgeoned barely contained. She offered a distracted hand to help him to his feet should he need it. Their passage this time had been frightening, even to her.
“I have never seen this place,” she said as he found his feet. Her fingers squeezed some comfort, and then released. Nim twirled in place so that she might see everything at once, apparently unafraid of such a beautiful unknown. Very little ever felt new to her as this did. Like the release of a rushing brook burst from old banks, she explored. Her palms brushed leaves, her mood washed clean, occasionally pausing to ensure Noctua stayed with her.
“Hello?” she called soft into the wildness. There was precious little sense of human here, but plainly she expected the answer of something. “The old ones stir,” she murmured, half to herself. Joy sprung at the epiphany, and her steps bounded off, hopeful that Noctua would find it in him to enjoy the exhilaration of it, but mindful that he was likely to hold more sedate inquiry of their surroundings. She did not stray far ahead. Around them their environment seemed to shiver and react. Branches leaned curiously and under no apparent wind to follow their progress. Flowers peeped their glorious petals as if to observe the sun, but shyly pointed instead after their ponderous journey into the heart of this place.
Unil, ahead, something thrust from the earth like a felled tree, utterly branchless. Vines wound around like a cage, obscuring its surface. Her curious steps slowed to inspect it, though she instinctively did not touch the grey stone she could see peering beneath the foliage. She stooped instead, head tilted, curls pooling over one shoulder. Some distant memory fought to surface, but faded beneath the waves. Something around them moved, ponderously slow. It caught the peripheral of her attention. ”Hello, ancient one,” she said again. She straightened to beam at Noctua, then searched for their company.