dance in the skies ༊*·˚
@heavenlywinds
There is no shortage of things to miss about home.
Erinys closes her eyes and inhales, shoulders raising and back straightening. There is no one else here to see her cry, but that doesn’t stop her from feeling ashamed for the fact.
Her posture falls with the release of that breath, eyes reopening slowly. Chin tips upward and, finally, her hand extends.
Lithe fingers come to brush the smooth curve of a bow, tracing downward. It’s a training bow, made for practice as opposed to killing, arranged in a row of identical weapons. This is silly, she chides herself, you look foolish.
Because none of these bows had been drawn against her sister -- none had dealt that final blow to the most honorable of Silesse’s Heavenly Knights -- and yet she stands before them as though they might give her some kind of reprieve from that loss when Annand herself is buried so far away.
That hand drops, falls lamely back to her side. Erinys stares, unmoving, fighting the warmth that presses the back of her eyes. She had gone to Annand’s grave plenty -- knelt in the soil before it and wept like she was a child -- with the same questions over and over. Because her sister would have known what to do when Lewyn vanished, or when Queen Lahna had passed.
Annand would have made a far better queen. A better mother, too.
( Erinys dares not consider that further, does not prod at whether or not Lewyn would have chosen her, still, had the option remained. )
Her eyes shut once more. Annand would not have thrown so much away to find him a second time.
