𝘢𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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abraxasnet2021-10-24 12:03 am
bloomly) wrote in abraxasnet2021-10-24 12:03 am
TO: EVERYONE.
( it's not like she means to, and certainly not like she wants to broadcast her thoughts, in the neat, curling cursive that it comes in, to people that she doesn't even know, in a place where she's fairly certain she's all alone. sure, there had been the sudden intrusion before, of words splashed on her bedsheets and the wooden walls where she sleeps--but she had figured that must have been some sort of hallucination, perhaps even magic, or worse, some sort of curse; she doesn't know anything about this place except what those here, in solvunn, have told her, and what's a halloween anyway? some sort of other curse?
or is this something different? it wouldn't be the first time the planet said things to her that she didn't understand, a cacophony of voices scrambled together: some happy, others upset, some desperate to be lost to the lifestream entirely. but this isn't gaia, and this isn't her flower garden--the cries of the planet don't reach her here, or do they? is that the meaning of all those words before?
it's late at night when her eyes close: maybe if she thinks hard enough, long enough, she can find that pull, the tug of the lifestream to draw her thoughts together with the planet beneath her. maybe she can find a way out of here. maybe there are a lot of 'maybe's. )
𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒹𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓂𝑒?
( the text, all loopy and warm and rounded, pops up with no discretion for who it's sent to, or why: it's just there, to everyone open to it, and repeats patiently if ignored. then, another: )
𝐻𝑜𝓌 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝐼 𝒽𝑒𝓁𝓅?
( and, of course, there's a neat little signature at the bottom of every message: )
- 𝒜𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓉𝒽
or is this something different? it wouldn't be the first time the planet said things to her that she didn't understand, a cacophony of voices scrambled together: some happy, others upset, some desperate to be lost to the lifestream entirely. but this isn't gaia, and this isn't her flower garden--the cries of the planet don't reach her here, or do they? is that the meaning of all those words before?
it's late at night when her eyes close: maybe if she thinks hard enough, long enough, she can find that pull, the tug of the lifestream to draw her thoughts together with the planet beneath her. maybe she can find a way out of here. maybe there are a lot of 'maybe's. )
( the text, all loopy and warm and rounded, pops up with no discretion for who it's sent to, or why: it's just there, to everyone open to it, and repeats patiently if ignored. then, another: )
( and, of course, there's a neat little signature at the bottom of every message: )
no subject
he wants to believe her, but he doesn't: not fully, maybe. that's like him, too.
she wants to believe it, though--i'll find you, words that hit harder than they should. hasn't someone else said something like that before? but he-- )
𝒜𝓇𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒? 𝒟𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊?
𝐼 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒻𝒾𝑔𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝑜𝓊𝓉...𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝑜 𝑔𝑒𝓉 𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒, 𝒾𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓃𝑒𝑒𝒹 𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜, 𝒷𝓊𝓉...
( but he'll never agree to that, if it's really cloud. so: )
𝐼'𝓁𝓁 𝓌𝒶𝒾𝓉 𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑔𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓈 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒷𝑒𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝒷𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓀𝒻𝒶𝓈𝓉, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒷𝑒𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝒹. 𝐼'𝓁𝓁 𝓌𝒶𝒾𝓉 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒.
( however long it might take. )