[ Post a Response | Desreal ]
Posted by s t y m i e; on January 30, 2009, 5:14 pm, in reply to "That's because you are my heaven;"
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Stymie laughs – a light, whimsical sound that seems to travel across time and space, again like a sinuous rift in the cloak of reality. “Have I?” she echoes, and distantly in her mind she recalls childhood.
Nightshade used to have her work cut out for her, watching the wayward shadow-child. But not even the legion of similar creatures that watch over Stymie could have kept the nightingale from her wanderings.
Stymie saw her father only once. It had been bright night, illuminated by great pinions of moonlight, and that light had splashed silver-blue on metallic scales and dragon-wings, shimmering in pale eyes that met Stymie’s in a single instant. And in that instant Stymie knew. Nightshade leapt alongside her – wary and eager all at once – and the deep perplexity that ran between the two of them then (Nightmare who didn’t understand this fathomless entity he had created, and Stymie who was befuddled by the magnificent knowledge that she suddenly discovered) was palpable, and then he was gone, and Stymie decided in that moment that she cared for her father.
Of course she knows what others say about him. Of course she knows she shouldn’t care for him, and even Nightshade tells her that.
But she does.
She leans into her mother’s touch. “Mother,” she says, with a mischievous look over her shoulder and a gleam in her emerald eyes, “There’s someone I’d like you to meet. It’s been years now, and I told myself that if I ever found you again I wouldn’t keep her a secret from you.”
Stymie glances off to the side. And there, hovering half-in the shadow, Nightshade appears – something between a weasel, a dragon, and a cat, a mere silhouette of shadow with large white eyes that shine like stars in a midnight sky. She is small, and, like Stymie, falls paradoxically onto the line between frightening and endearing. “This is Nightshade,” Stymie says. Nightshade shifts, the cloud of shadow serving as her feet rippling beneath her. “She’s not the only one like her – they’re everywhere, some are quite big – but she is my best friend. She says no one else sees things like her unless she wants them to.”
That’s because horses are idiots, Nightshade points out, with a wry look at Stymie.
Stymie decides to ignore that comment. If Nightshade is going to make friends, she’s going to need to A) Be less creepy and B) Be less mean. “So to answer your question...I’ve been wandering. I miss my brother Baraqel, so I decided to come back here.”
You have a sister, Nightshade says.
She’s been saying that for awhile now, so Stymie ignores that, too. “I’m considering finding a place to stay. I was going to find my father and try to stay with him, but Nightshade says that’s a bad idea.”
The dark mare inclines her head into the shadows, longingly, almost somberly, as she imagines the dragonic shape materializing through the trees with a kind of distant hope.
“Apparently, they don’t like him,” she muses, turning to face her mother again with innocent confusion in her emerald eyes.
A tendril of irritated shadow lashes off of Nightshade.
“No shit, Sherlock.”
KURAI x AQUILA || LIGHTNING I
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