#writeblr.

most words are just, like, good enough, even if what they are describing is lovely. the night sky is a fine term for it but it isn't perfect the way november is the correct term for that month.

it's not just in english because in spanish the phrase eso si que es is correct, it should be that. sometimes other languages are also better than the english words, like how blue is sloped too far downwards but azul is perfect and hangs in the air like glitter. while butterfly is sweet, i think probably papillion is more correct, although for some butterflies féileacán is much better. year is fine but bliain is better. sometimes multiple languages got it right though, like how jueves and Πέμπτη are also the right names for thursday. maybe we as a species are just really good at naming thursdays.

and if we were really bored and had a moment and a picnic to split we could all sit down for a moment and sort out all the words that exist and find all the perfect words in every language. i would show you that while i like the word tree (it makes you smile to say it), i think arbor is correct. you could teach me from your language what words fit the right way, and that would be very exciting (exciting is not correct, it's just fine).

i think probably this is what was happening at the tower of babel, before the languages all got shifted across the world and smudged by the hand of god. by the way, hand isn't quite right, but i do like that the word god is only 3 letters, and that it is shaped like it is reflecting into itself, and that it kind of makes your mouth move into an echoing chapel when you cluck it. but the word god could also fit really well with a coathanger, and i can't explain that. i think donut has (weirdly) the same shape as a toothbrush, but we really got bagel right and i am really grateful for that.

On the greatest expanse of wall, half hidden behind a dozen others but displayed dead center of the collage of works, her people's most guarded history told in thread.

The Innocent Destroyer. He was one of her people's first shared memories, the Fire Avatar. The one who died by flames, and was wrenched back from beyond the veil by the Terrible Old Master. The one who became fire and burrowed into the melting Earth beneath his feet, liberating her people through the disaster of his resurrection and by destroying their cruel lords.

Dew-On-Heels felt her weight in the soles of sore her feet against the floors. That was when she realized she'd stood and began to cross the room to see that square of cloth closer.

There he stood. Generations upon generations ago, his name was still remembered, cherished even. Cool-Of-Shade. His name was the feeling of relief to retreat to shade in the heat of midday. He died in the clutches of their people's horrible lord and master, part of a ruthless experimentation. Burned alive, but slowly. He was only eight years old when he was torn from his mother's arms, and when his fragile body failed him, because he was only a child, their master resurrected him.

Tears flowed over Dew's cheeks as she remembered the story, as she relived it through the memories of her ancestors, carefully passed down one mind and one heart to the next. A child was stolen. A world was shattered. A wound was inflicted on an entire people.

They learn and grow their gifts through gentle, gradual exposure to the elements on which they meditate. To be killed by an element, and then revived, is to become that natural force. Cool-Of-Shade became the Fire Titan. A god imprisoned in torment.

In the woven art, he stood over a sprawling city, body and bone stretched beyond natural limit, soul extruded out of him, made of flame and molten earth, and too much for his decimated corporeal form to contain. Devastation lay under his feet. Dew felt the hundred memories of her people's flight from the ruin city unfold within her. Terror.