✹☾❂
The rain had become something more than an annoyance. The thick boughs of willow branches acted a little like a shield, but eventually the weight of the water always broke through — Eleuthera found that she was pervasively damp and, after days of continuous rain, she hadn’t been allowed to dry. The lilac woman preened herself often to ensure that her pelt did not become tattered and in knots from the whole thing.
So Eleuthera found that she was usually stowed away in her den, likely passing stories back and forth with @Kincaid, losing track of time between the darkened skies and the many, many naps. Really, she found that she didn’t know what day it was anymore, so Eleuthera knew that she had to quit the relative comfort of the den for at least a short while, to feel the rain on her skin and watch the willows weep.
The rain kept her within the willows, when she really wanted to run — run away from the rain clouds and fine some place sunny, with a patch of warm earth upon which she could sprawl. Perhaps this sunny place existed just beyond the mountains, for all she knew; it certainly couldn’t be that all the earth that was this way. Eleuthera walked to a clearing, gazed up high at the mountains that loomed westward and guarded the willows, then shook her head, knowing she could not leave the willows right now, even if she wanted to. Even if the mere fantasy of it was enough to keep her away at night.
Instead, Eleuthera went to the rose garden. It certainly wasn’t the first time she had visited the garden, but her visits were few and far between. She felt a little awkward coming here — exposed, as if her mothers were pervasive, all-seeing things that lived on here. The girl had shown it to Kincaid, been overwhelmed with its energy, and then didn’t come back for a long time.
But now, she did. The faerie pressed herself against the loamy, fertile soil and crooned to the earth. “Hey Mommas, I —" she began, the misted rain coalescing on her face and running off in large beads. “I miss you guys. You have not been forgotten." The Faeries and the russet cowboy were all-encompassing and totally overwhelming in their impact upon her, but her real reason for staying amongst the willows would always run true. Eleuthera pushed herself up upon pointed forelegs, wondering if the dead could hear and speak, just as Scarab said they could.
So Eleuthera found that she was usually stowed away in her den, likely passing stories back and forth with @Kincaid, losing track of time between the darkened skies and the many, many naps. Really, she found that she didn’t know what day it was anymore, so Eleuthera knew that she had to quit the relative comfort of the den for at least a short while, to feel the rain on her skin and watch the willows weep.
The rain kept her within the willows, when she really wanted to run — run away from the rain clouds and fine some place sunny, with a patch of warm earth upon which she could sprawl. Perhaps this sunny place existed just beyond the mountains, for all she knew; it certainly couldn’t be that all the earth that was this way. Eleuthera walked to a clearing, gazed up high at the mountains that loomed westward and guarded the willows, then shook her head, knowing she could not leave the willows right now, even if she wanted to. Even if the mere fantasy of it was enough to keep her away at night.
Instead, Eleuthera went to the rose garden. It certainly wasn’t the first time she had visited the garden, but her visits were few and far between. She felt a little awkward coming here — exposed, as if her mothers were pervasive, all-seeing things that lived on here. The girl had shown it to Kincaid, been overwhelmed with its energy, and then didn’t come back for a long time.
But now, she did. The faerie pressed herself against the loamy, fertile soil and crooned to the earth. “Hey Mommas, I —" she began, the misted rain coalescing on her face and running off in large beads. “I miss you guys. You have not been forgotten." The Faeries and the russet cowboy were all-encompassing and totally overwhelming in their impact upon her, but her real reason for staying amongst the willows would always run true. Eleuthera pushed herself up upon pointed forelegs, wondering if the dead could hear and speak, just as Scarab said they could.
Tags for awareness. All welcome!
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands
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Messages In This Thread
you open always petal by petal - by Eleuthera - August 01, 2020, 10:16 PM
RE: you open always petal by petal - by Valiant - August 04, 2020, 02:03 PM
RE: you open always petal by petal - by Eleuthera - August 07, 2020, 11:30 AM
RE: you open always petal by petal - by Valiant - August 19, 2020, 08:35 PM
RE: you open always petal by petal - by Eleuthera - August 26, 2020, 08:24 PM