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In many ways, it was not surprising that their blind Seer had developed a fondness of the sun; as someone who lived in a constant shroud of darkness, he was happiest when he could bask in the warm and bright rays that dripped down on him from above. They found him often far away from the shade, his skin turning as golden as his hair as he soaked up nature's greatest gift to mankind. That was how Isaac regarded the grandest star in their universe. Nothing else had ever touched his soul—had made him gladly reach out magic tipped fingers, greedily sinking into silky curls, to live in a permanent glow as he pulled his supernova close. Truth was, Isaac feared a sunless existence and rather stayed inside when clouds rolled in or the moon came out. Neither brought him much solace, because they did not shine the same, and couldn't color his world. He loved only the part of the sun that gave light, believing that it had been made just for him. But he was twilight at best, a placeholder for the crescent in the sky, she for whom the sun died again and again and again. Who could have ever competed with that; what chance did he have? |
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[ bericht aangepast op 24 april 2022 - 22:32 ]
Feel the fire, but do not succumb to it.
