In a field speckled with show tents at the edge of town, there was a balance to uphold to keep their world tethered and secure. The matter of merely existing was the responsibility of everyone - whether one harnessed a piece of the world or not, all must witness those who did so that they could believe in the world, and therefore it would exist.
There was Mila, was carried the sun like it was a toy ball, but then healed all with its light; Yuri, who beheld the core of creation through space’s infinite pathways; Otabek, who rose mountains and braided roots; Chris, who ensured the night fell; Phichit, who checked that the moon rose with it so that they might still have light.
There was so many, and they were to all be believed in, and so it was quite irresponsible that Viktor only wanted to see the winter tent every time Yuuri had a show.
But look at the magic here!
Yuuri whited out the walls of the tent until everyone was forced to blink against the brightness. And then they were standing in a forest. Bustling green was replaced with settling white. Trunks were burst from a frozen ground of discolored old leaves and snow weighed thick on trees over every branch.
And it was still, and silent, so much like the sharp quietness that came with the night, yet the sun glittered bright beyond the limbs.
Their breaths puffed visibly in front of them.
Winter was a dead thing, Viktor learned. But it was also beautiful.
read more here and visit @yoilitmag for more previews, info, and previous issues! much love went into this entire project.