the rapture ends with a chorus, the divine are left in free fall, and when the dust settles, nothing is as it was. sunday takes flight without a goodbye ( perhaps she should be angry at this / perhaps she recognises the hypocrisy if she were: few words offered in farewell, if at all, the dove had left as quickly as she'd return ), whilst the chair - where he once sat - feels degrees too large. robin has questions, of couse she does ( and perhaps she would ask them if things were different / perhaps she wouldn't have to at all ), but only one matters in the end " are you happy, brother? " // @playselect
ㅤㅤㅤ𝐜𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐟𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, sunday knew - built mostly to keep in, but in some cases - to protect. but they were not always metal bars or locked rooms, not always isolation or prison sentences... where birds saw the sky as freedom, as a means to roam and escape the ground beneath, he only saw another cage. it was a reminder of abject failure - a miles wide expanse of what he could have, had sunday not lived his life in his own order-made cage. he'd be lying if he said that jealousy had not bloomed on occasion, lying if every once and awhile envy hadn't permeated his core - for how could it not? how could he not feel the occasional pangs of loss or sorrow or want when his beloved sister, bird so blue, could flit to and fro his sky as easy as breathing. perhaps it was not his ability to soar that he craved... but his ability instead to do it with her.
ㅤㅤㅤas he'd aged - the jealousy and want had faded, instilled in the dreammaster's whispers into his ears that his purpose was great - his talents serving something else. that beneath ena's gaze, his order and robin's song would create a utopia where no bird would ever have to worry about falling from the sky, or being able to take flight. the strong would adore the weak, and civilization would be better for it. it's easy now - to look back and choke on the bile of his own laughter. birds were made to fly, and those that couldn't simply found a new way or died. that was as true today as it was before. sunday - sunday would never 'fly' in the way robin does, would never touch untold skies and breathe his song across the stars. wings clipped, feathers blackened, his freedom was found in the future now, in looking away from dreams to instead manifest order in a way that was... conducive to human nuance.
ㅤㅤㅤhe misses robin - loathes the way it has turned out, that he has left his sweet sister with this mess after all she has endured. but he can sully her with his presence no further. they can never go back to the embrace of their mother's arms, sweet songs shared with them both - never go back to adorning their room in childhood drawings, manufacturing makeshift stages with a crowd of one, or even go back to sunday writing her songs - composing tender words from the heart of a poet filled with such longing to be free. it had all gone so horribly wrong, yet...
ㅤㅤㅤthe sun descends below the horizon, wayward birds taking flight to find their trees for the long night. behind him stands a woman with coercion on her tongue, a man who craves a coffin, a girl to whom life is a game, and another weapon who seeks desperately to live. at their side rests a cat - fur as black as the raven of his wings, with golden eyes the wisest things in the galaxy, for they had seen the foretolds of destiny long before sunday had showed up. somewhere, in this vast expanse of this universe - he feels her, feels that missing piece, and closes his eyes.
ㅤㅤㅤare you happy, brother? the build up was harrowing, the fall even more so - fighting for order until the very last note, until he'd awakened in the arms of a mech with an invitation in the form of poetry in hand. behind him now - the land he'd laid to waste, the sister he'd left behind, but before him...
ㅤㅤㅤ❝ you coming, sunday? ❞ spider's-silk voice pulls him from his thoughts, and he looks to the woman with no fear in her heart...
ㅤㅤㅤ( no, but i will be )
ㅤㅤㅤ...and strides, towards destiny.
