[ Respond | Andarin: The Mountains ]
Posted by -- jörmungandr; on February 24, 2009, 2:08 pm, in reply to "his brain's squirmin' like a toad; --" This is the way the world ends
189.6.80.163
Not with a bang, but a whimper.- T. S. Eliot
(when the first wail of anguish ripped the air in two, Joh, who was sleeping at the time, felt it in her dreams; it reminded her of fire and, more importantly, of Alkonost besides her – dead or dying, as she’d thought at the time.
In her dream, her sister never recovered.)
“Hesper,” she repeats.
Like the garden, where the apples of immortality were found. Where Atlas held the world upon his shoulders.
Joh, of course, know nothing of this; the world is still a mostly alien place, a world she has very little knowledge about. A small smile creases her face – but it’s a distant, almost distracted thing. She doesn’t look at the child anymore, but at the mother.
The mother. Lycoris.
Mm.
“Congratulations, I suppose.”
Yeah.
Not a kid person (or rather, pony), Joh.
Surprisingly enough.
Perhaps she knows her future in this particular area of biology is rather grim. Intuition can be a strong thing, especially in her bloodline. Her grandmother comes to mind.
“How did this happen?”
(love is weakness, Jörmungandr. Remember that.)
***
jörmungandr
there is hope, but not for us
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