Blue sheets delicately lace around her caramel skin. Her fiery eyes flicker in the sheer darkness of an upstairs room. She stares, high above at the glowing butterflies and their pierced wings, wondering when she will hear that voice again. And she has so many questions, but she’s waiting, and waiting, and waiting… She has time, until there’s no time. Then she is doomed to this darkness forever, chained by the wrists to the wall of death. But still, she waits, and she wonders, and aches… There will always be pain. This, she knows by heart. But she’s dying, she can feel it, she can see it in her visions and her emotions and her whole being, she’s falling apart as if nothing mattered… But nothing really does matter. Except for him. Her light, her life, her vision. He is the sun she soaks into her skin, the fire that consumes all, the seeds of her flowers, the brightness in her soul. He is the reason why she has extra to spare, to pour into those around her, he is the source of her need and her strength. But there are so many questions, dreams, realities. So many things he sticks in front of her face like a daze she has to break through, and rewrite herself again… Small things, things that shift rivers and sometimes oceans. But inside her, a sea of pain is building, and all her armies are giving it all they’ve got, because all her life she’s never wanted to know what anger is.
