@11fatui asked —
Many were the times glossy eyes peered up, too far up as to crane a child's neck, to seek refuge in those rose of Hers. Each glance, each confession more hardened than the last, more eager, less fazed; he's seen and he's heard, but more importantly: he has done. Small hands had carried the weight of sins that barely fit in his palm — by the Seven, it was just a kid!
Age didn't agree with his strength, it agreed with the crack of a voice which pitch hadn't been evened yet, but which knew of the mortality of everything. Including the Gods. ❛ Who will I say goodnight to when you’re gone ? ❜
KHIONIYA “...” the age of stone is a darkened thing / steeped in one layer gone over until erosion eats its fill. it is the bedrock beneath a glacier. it is the stark, unyielding backbone that threatens to snap if it cannot remain as it was — & eventually it shall. stone is moulded into a natural death. the little thing in front of her cannot know that kind of age.
the unease that is bred into skin- mica / flecks filtering into her many, many layers.
not that he can think of an end to an existence that ought seem to him historical. but he imagines the anguish of loss—without chilled silence to speak into & be known by.
odd. & odd things please.
a blink. the first since his silly, smarting words.
orphaned child. ever poised on the sagging fencepost before the fall; & how trivial that fall will be. few things will mourn a boy’s grief. goodnight. to whom? a world full of people, please- but these are not answers to a child who curls his fist, at times, as tightly as can be in the furs that flow within reach.
“...”
skff, tp. those furs billow around the crouch she drops into. small, innocent thing stained with more blood than he knows where to go with. ( why should he? why should he, when she cannot fathom the purpose of blood on terribly small hands? ) hm. he is picked up.
—under the arms, hauled up to a set point above eye-height where the sunlight paints his face a wondrous welcome. “...” what, indeed? is he trying to find the answer — or is this one of those questions for the sake of its own existence? “...then you will say goodbye to me instead. every night.”
there’s not much point promising a deathly child that the impossible cannot occur.