the river has 𝒘ept a bountiful mist and a cull clings to it and rises as the very moonshine does this night. a feather- white apparition is caught in the wind, her edges dislimning in the haze, in the wood– and all at once she is lunar-haloed and i make the brief mistake of thinking her but a woman. it seems she is not so moored as i. into near obscurity is our brumal presence smudged, not a breath shared between us / not a blink, i do not want to miss her shape : she is what appears to me a transient sigh , wavering, to be undone with the passing of the breeze. if there were any sign of life here, it has not yet revealed itself to me.
“ a beautiful call, ” and i make no instant effort to approach @frysse. time and time again, we have been little but flickering starlets in the early hours to one another, as i smeared blood in silence across her kingdom. ( i muse for a moment how fares her kin in these years, if perhaps she grieves a sister still ) i have felt her, her silhouette in the window a stranger to me, my kind. a flavor of continuance not reached by my claw. “ enfin ⸻ curious by dusk was i to see if you might come find me once more. and curious you are to me. ” if she bats an eye now, she will miss my advance, drawing nigh to the incorporeal one. “ i’ve cleaned up well enough, i do hope. ”
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