𝙛𝙡𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙙𝙖. @junahs : “ what is it about me that people need breaks from? ” to rella.
𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝗯𝗶𝗿𝗱 - 𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗲𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻. its neck is long and thin, but the head atop does not wobble like a foal's, or the over - burdened peony, which is crushed under its own weight; it is held perfectly upright, jutted outwards, and its eyes are always pointed directly forward. never back. the past is a snare. rella knows this, and so does juani. they were taught well. there is little use in dwelling on the footprints left in the sand, so she has always grabbed her sister's smaller hand and yanked her into step, towards the future. no more fields of flowers, or remembering the feeling of flesh rubbed raw and bleeding by iron. how to become the daughter of a noble house? by killing every part of yourself that remembers how it felt to have nothing. set all that down, and burn it. otherwise, every noble worth their salt will be able to tell where juani had crawled from, and turn her out. they always know the stranger, by sight and smell. so the saint keeps a watchful eye on the poor thing, even now. her work is never complete.
they don't get time to themselves very often anymore. it's something of a special occasion, to be back in the family estate, not hounded by hangers - on or members of the clergy. the quietude is more than welcome; they've sat in relative silence for most of the evening, comforted by the feeling of the twin heart beating in the room alone. when juani speaks after some time, her voice is so slight that it hardly bends the air about them. a dragonfly resting on a puddle. rella blinks, turning away from the bay window that overlooks the small, pristine yard. juani looks terribly small, curling in on herself on the edge of an over - stuffed bed, looking not at her, but at the floor. “ the night sky … , ” it's a false start. for all her years of palliative care, it hasn't gotten much easier to soothe suffering with words alone. actions ought to speak for themselves. but juani wouldn't understand that. the girl's all talk. maybe she means what she says, but it doesn't matter, her words and songs are just that. mere vibrations of sound. rella spreads her fingers wide, reaching for the right words, trying to grasp them firmly in her palms. she feels them slip between her second and third knuckles like snatches of light between heavy blinds. she shutters her eyes for a moment and lets a wave crash over them both. when the tide pulls back, they remain standing in juani's old room, unchanged, though rella feels heavier — if not with saltwater soaking her gown, then with the burden of sisterhood. “ i love looking up at the stars, imagining myself up there, with them. i have since we were small. ”
how many evenings had she spent here, or at the academy, moon - soaked? she wants to reach out and touch god, who must be there, resting between those pinpricks in the darkness. hands fold at the wrist over her stomach, still as a gazing pool. no ripples disturb the surface of her skin. “ it would be a shame if we never saw the sun, though. wouldn’t it? some things are more magical because they aren’t forever. they come and go. ” she pacifies.
a smile tries to find its place on rella's lips, but it's a bad fit. only the corners of her mouth raise slightly, leaving the rest of her face stolid. to others, it looks like restraint. there might just be something missing. “ i’d like to think you’re no different. ” there is a vacancy in the great eyes that turn to her sister; she is far away, now. there is much to be done.
