Waking Life Jul 26, 2021 22:04:35 GMT -6
Post by Tale on Jul 26, 2021 22:04:35 GMT -6
Tale never dreamed.
It wasn't a problem, per se. He was perfectly content spending each night tracing the patterns in the ceiling's wood grain as he waited for rest to come. The next morning, he always woke up too early to sunlight coming through his window, and didn't dwell on the hours lost between those moments. If anything, he's grateful for not dreaming. Touj regaled him with stories of all sorts from his mind's wanderings in slumber, from all his teeth falling out to winding up back in Tumai to chasing his Shijin down an endless corridor. Tale was fine with the relationship he had with his psyche: distant, unexamined, wary.
He came into Hall expecting the same. He dragged his fingers along the cold marble walls as he followed the Shalaya, passing countless rooms. After an eternity of walking, he saw it. The wooden framed door was smoothed with age, the top of its handle shining gold. The doorknob in his hand felt the same as that in his old home. His chest clenched as he entered, settling into a too-familiar oversized armchair.
|He feels another hand in his. It’s small and warm, and grips him tight. Looking at its owner, he sees a familiar face: lavender hair tied up in twintails, pale skin and deep, black eyes. The fae smiles as he stares. |
“What’s gotten into you?” she chuckles. Not waiting for an answer, the child pulls his hand and they are moving, headed toward some unknown goal. It’s just like any other day: yet for some reason, his stomach has turned inside out. “Hurry up.”
“Isa, where are we going?” he tries to ask. A croaked, pained noise comes out of his mouth instead.
She looks back at him, exasperated. She does not answer, but moves forward. Tale is helpless to do anything but follow.
There’s so much he wants to tell her. There’s even more he wants to ask her. But he can’t get a single word out: his throat has stopped working, and he can’t even breathe, much less form a sentence. All he can do is clutch her hand harder and squeeze. She squeezes back.
Even though he has known this girl his entire life, his brain feels sluggish and muddled as he tries to sort out just who this person is to him, and why she means so much. This is Isa. This is the girl that raised him, when he was still a harachiu; this is the bright, excitable child whom he outpaced to adulthood, who he argues and plays and eats with. She is everything to Tale. She is his mother, his daughter, his best friend. She’s the most important person in his life, only Touj comes anywhere close —
Tale met Touj after Isa died; he is certain. But he is also certain that Isa is here with him now, and he has no intention of letting her leave again. He wants to pull her in tight and never let go, he wants to run away and never look back so she can find someone who can actually keep her safe, he wants to fall to his knees and beg for her forgiveness for not finding her sooner. They keep walking, hand in hand.
Finally, Isa stops. The world seems blurry and vague around them, but Tale can see clearly the building before them. It’s their house: two stories tall with chipping paint, surrounded by a yard lovingly overgrown with wildflowers. Isa opens the door and he sees his favorite coffee mug sitting on the kitchen table, his book left open face-down next to the armchair. She tries to pull him inside, but only now can Tale control his body.
“I want to,” he tells Isa, pleading, regretful. “But I can’t. I wish I could.”
“I know,” she says. She turns to face him, her smile wobbly. She grabs hold of his other hand. “I just miss you.”
“I miss you too,” Tale’s eyes are stinging, his cheeks hot and wet. “I love you. I miss you so, so much.”
He wakes up before she can answer.
Body Type: Deft
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