05-24-2021, 12:27 AM
indefinite ic exit for 'astarte.'
lost and burning; numb and adrift.
it had been a moon since her meet with the hart in that thicket; and more since her awakening to that dour-lipped pilgrim in the vale. and then she had fled from the foothills, soared beneath spires; ran from whatever things lie dead and empty within her gut that had stirred when her own season had reached for her, insatiable, insistent.
she ran from that, too; ran as she bled and breathed with glass in her throat and thoughts athorn within a fevered, flighty mind. ran and ran and ran and rebelling against that gift, that chance, that perhaps that she wasn't sure she deserved, even now. even this time.
and now she was here; in the very boreal place where she had been told to not return to.
all she can think of is blue.
where she would wander from here, the may queen did not know. but she was as made up of the north as any other who hailed from and went forth from its frore embrace. but that thing – that other soul, that other place – called home awaited her, somewhere. and perhaps she isn't meant to hope, this time; to give into the old way that she once wondered at the great dark between haven-stars. but she hopes, anyway, that whatever beckons to her restive soul truly does lie out there, where everything is uncharted and simply aching to be found; unearthed.
it must be.
it had been a moon since her meet with the hart in that thicket; and more since her awakening to that dour-lipped pilgrim in the vale. and then she had fled from the foothills, soared beneath spires; ran from whatever things lie dead and empty within her gut that had stirred when her own season had reached for her, insatiable, insistent.
she ran from that, too; ran as she bled and breathed with glass in her throat and thoughts athorn within a fevered, flighty mind. ran and ran and ran and rebelling against that gift, that chance, that perhaps that she wasn't sure she deserved, even now. even this time.
and now she was here; in the very boreal place where she had been told to not return to.
all she can think of is blue.
where she would wander from here, the may queen did not know. but she was as made up of the north as any other who hailed from and went forth from its frore embrace. but that thing – that other soul, that other place – called home awaited her, somewhere. and perhaps she isn't meant to hope, this time; to give into the old way that she once wondered at the great dark between haven-stars. but she hopes, anyway, that whatever beckons to her restive soul truly does lie out there, where everything is uncharted and simply aching to be found; unearthed.
it must be.
the staff team luvs u
