aspen
At times, it felt like the silvered, sprawling, closely bundled and sloped rooftops were made for her. Â Effortless in bounds and leaps, silent in stops and starts, she could sometimes get away with calling her motions fluid. Â Liquid shadow. Â Hah. Â How pretentious. Â He would love it, really. Â Lotus-hilted daggers, bursts of moths and bird-like masks --
Birds. Â Avian imagery kept following her every damned where.
She wasnât opposed to it. Â It reminded her of pleasant things now, too. Â Confusing, but reciprocated feelings. Â Blades sunk deep into rib cages, blood licked clean from deactivated void blades. Â
No, not now. Â No getting lost in fantasy.
She stepped off the lip of a curved rooftop to leap with the softest pad of leather soles against the surface of another, leaving behind a trail of shadowy vines, small, shadowy âsunflowersâ blooming in deep purples. It was altogether likely that they werenât actually there at all. Â Her lips quirked at the loud clank of a hook and the rattle of pulling chain as someone launched themselves to the neighboring rooftop. Â How did anyone sleep in this place? Â Did anyone sleep in this place?
âYou constantly surprise me. Â Lack of outward indication hardly means anything.â
No, it meant a great deal. Â Everything the insufferable old elf never indicated meant a great deal. Â She wasnât sure if she wanted it to, but it did. Â Everything underneath the sunâs blessed light and shadow had always mattered so much, and he was the third in a quartet of those whoâd mattered most. Â Something bit at her. Â Shattered glass and moss-covered statues with stony, passive faces no matter how hard she screamed or sang at--
Stop it.
Swallowed back magic left sweet tastes in her mouth, like syrupy medicine meant for children. Â She could feel the irritation ticking like a catâs tail tip, twitching back and forth. Â Like a metronome, like a grandfather clock--
No, stop it.
Another leap, and then two more, to a terrace, to some open balcony, to a second-story window and a peek inside for just a moment. Â Some nameless nightborn paced back and forth as restlessly as a cat sitting at the doorway, indecisive about whether or not it wants in or out. Â With a quick pull, the rogue weightlessly shifted up and to the higher, sloped rooftop. Â There was something so intensely satisfying about looking down over everything.
Over everyone.
No, no actual chip on her shoulder. Â Sheâd never really had one, never really needed anyoneâs approval, exactly. Â Praise, yes ( and oh how sheâd come to find that one out ). Â A need to be better than everyone at everything, maybe. Â A need to move forward, but everyone had that. Â A need for --
Closure? Â Something they all denied you. Â Something none of them had time for, but all the time in the world for others.
One did. Â She couldnât do him the disservice of dismissing how often he was willing to listen, to offer quiet and considerate opinion and all else, always considerate. Â The cat turned away, ears and tail flicking, golden eyes sullenly bored. Â Lightly little sunmote. Â But while he was nestled in a fond and hopeful little corner --
One-fourth of the past. Â You canât help being hopeful, just donât be indecisive. Â You care about respect. Â Heâll respect a decision you stand by. Â Kick him, or donât kick him. Â But donât fret over which is the right thing to do, because neither are wrong.














