5/13/2024, 1:30 AM
![[Image: 8bit-mint.png]](https://amysnotdeadyet.com/stuff/8bit-mint.png){kind=small}
Entirely aware that desperately wishing upon the small lights twinkling in the sky above would not do anything to change circumstance, he still found himself lost beneath a sea of thousands of them, murmuring soft please to Gods that would not bend an ear to listen. Fragments of time, a crystal thrown in anger against a wall, smashed and scattered into a billion small shards that illuminated the dark pane of glass above his head, one that had felt as if that too could come smashing down upon him. He breathed a slow sigh, relaxing his weight further into his back, pushing into the ground below with the halfhearted hope that it would be forced to swallow him up if only pressed hard enough.
Within the murky depths of his gaze, their reflections glittered, a perfect mirror that exposed the hollowness that resided within. Maybe it was worse than just a hollowness. Maybe it was a void, dark and foreboding, one that snuffed out the light. Her light. His breath hitched. She had come clean to him, exposed her bloodied wounds to his eyes, his calloused hands, all for what? Beck swallowed, unable to tear away from the blackness of the sky above, paralyzed by it. Just like everything else that occurred outside of those white walls, castles they had built in the heavens, fantasies that would never be...they were completely and utterly helpless to stop it. What had he done then but expose her further to the elements? Doused her in salt water to rub into those open cuts? He blinked slowly, breathing another sigh. How many months would this be, where they stood upon the cusp of change, only for it to slip through their fingers like grains of sand?
Cradled within the springtime foliage, the long grass at his back held him steady as he reclined against the thin stocks. He was glad that it itched at his fur, thankful that the sensation brought with it some form of distraction. One paw lay across his abdomen, fingertips brushing over the silken strands of dark fur. The other had curled around the stem of a dandelion, delicately plucking at its petals absentmindedly as if pulling them from one side to the next would bring about clarity where none existed before. It did not though, nor could he expect such a small gesture to do anything of the sort.
Speech | Français
Ásny