Sun Mote Copse Love me like you love the sun

some nights she wishes the cicadas would sing her to sleep, to wake her in the morning in a different place. perhaps where the hills blushed white and pink. to the wajo and the apex of the temple, the stones eternally warm to the touch.
most nights she fought for sleep in the same manner she fought for everything; empty-eyed and hollow chested, dreaming more in the waking hours and then fretting once the sun descended.
a day spent roaming a nearby orchard has left satsu haunted.
she seeks the still night water of a pond, unaware of the source of its flow. unaware, in her current frame of mind, of the shadow who lurks and who watches.
she glides in to the water with only the smallest gasp; surprised by the sheer cold of it, given the season. as she sits her body begins to adapt. she soaks, shocked awake by the sensation.