Soul's last dance
Thorn’s walk to the edge of the grounds has become a daily occurrence, a chance for him and Delilah both to stretch their respective legs and wings. Thorn is growing restless in his isolation outside of classes at PrIME. He has fewer tutors these days, as he has reached the limits of what some of them have to teach. Tom has more classes than he does, being much younger, and Leela has her own life. Since he seeks little contact outside the house, he gets next to none. Work would at least keep him busy enough to not notice the loneliness as much.
Delilah soars above him and dives, sweeping past so close that the wind of her passing ruffles his hair. She is difficult to look at in the sunlight, a white as brilliant as his hair now that the molt is completed. Between Courtney’s grooming, Thorn’s obliging scratches and Delilah’s own efforts, the ragged dusky plumage is gone. Her old feathers are ash on the wind and what comes to land on his shoulder is a rare white raven. He’s been afraid to take her to the Nexus since it became clear what lay beneath.
Ashen claws grip his shoulder through the layers of cloth, and the raven settles herself with a pause to preen his hair. “You can’t keep from dancing forever, you know…” She murmurs by his ear, her voice low and soft.
The young man walks on, growing accustomed to the gentle weight of her on his shoulder. Having his soul embodied forces him to speak with himself in ways he never dared before. “It ‘urts to dance. I’m always alone, with everything fighting me. The world don’t want me to dance.” How else can he verbalize the struggle of the magical energies against his? To dance is to move through the world as a fae being, while with every step the local mana fights to push him away.
“There’s at least one person who wants you to dance…” The raven nuzzles his cheek, then with a soft ruffle of feathers she launches herself into the sky again.
Left on the ground, Thorn blushes vividly. He could come up with a thousand protests, but knowing every one would be hollow, Delilah has robbed him of the chance to voice a single one aloud. Out of sight of the house, alone with his soul, Thorn forces himself to take a light step, and then another. He does not have to think about the dance, because even as the magic of the world fights him he can still chase it by instinct. He turns, steps, and wheels faster in a terpsichore echoed by the white raven wheeling above. Lost in the throes of the dance he thinks nothing of it when Delilah wheels and dives lower to meet him in it. Spinning and tucking her wings to gain speed, the bird dives towards his chest, and does not stop.
He does not feel the impact, simply a soft warm glow, and his dance ends a few steps later as the action truly registers. The bird is gone, a few white feathers dissolving on the wind the only trace to prove she ever existed. There is a soft weight inside him now, reassuring and comforting rather than pulling him down. If anything, he feels strangely lighter. Something he had not realized he was missing is there now, heating him from within.
Thorn turns his face into the wind, and resumes the dance.
Delilah soars above him and dives, sweeping past so close that the wind of her passing ruffles his hair. She is difficult to look at in the sunlight, a white as brilliant as his hair now that the molt is completed. Between Courtney’s grooming, Thorn’s obliging scratches and Delilah’s own efforts, the ragged dusky plumage is gone. Her old feathers are ash on the wind and what comes to land on his shoulder is a rare white raven. He’s been afraid to take her to the Nexus since it became clear what lay beneath.
Ashen claws grip his shoulder through the layers of cloth, and the raven settles herself with a pause to preen his hair. “You can’t keep from dancing forever, you know…” She murmurs by his ear, her voice low and soft.
The young man walks on, growing accustomed to the gentle weight of her on his shoulder. Having his soul embodied forces him to speak with himself in ways he never dared before. “It ‘urts to dance. I’m always alone, with everything fighting me. The world don’t want me to dance.” How else can he verbalize the struggle of the magical energies against his? To dance is to move through the world as a fae being, while with every step the local mana fights to push him away.
“There’s at least one person who wants you to dance…” The raven nuzzles his cheek, then with a soft ruffle of feathers she launches herself into the sky again.
Left on the ground, Thorn blushes vividly. He could come up with a thousand protests, but knowing every one would be hollow, Delilah has robbed him of the chance to voice a single one aloud. Out of sight of the house, alone with his soul, Thorn forces himself to take a light step, and then another. He does not have to think about the dance, because even as the magic of the world fights him he can still chase it by instinct. He turns, steps, and wheels faster in a terpsichore echoed by the white raven wheeling above. Lost in the throes of the dance he thinks nothing of it when Delilah wheels and dives lower to meet him in it. Spinning and tucking her wings to gain speed, the bird dives towards his chest, and does not stop.
He does not feel the impact, simply a soft warm glow, and his dance ends a few steps later as the action truly registers. The bird is gone, a few white feathers dissolving on the wind the only trace to prove she ever existed. There is a soft weight inside him now, reassuring and comforting rather than pulling him down. If anything, he feels strangely lighter. Something he had not realized he was missing is there now, heating him from within.
Thorn turns his face into the wind, and resumes the dance.