Re: Wandering: Hannah/Fiach
"It is alright if you are or are not always morose," he concluded softly, his voice at times, the soothing effect came to fruition without his intention; a scattering of stars on a sheet of black velvet. "Whatever you feel, it is allowed. May it be bare trees in the winter, or sun on lake water, or a little bit of both. Sunny winter days are rare, but they are very real." He listened and it was his turn to tilt his head. A sigh left his lips, silent as the pretend music that never came to be.
"It's a beautiful thing to want, but as you said, there is beauty within the tarnish, and scars." He could feel the silver slivers on his back as if they were still freshly cleaved into his flesh. "...scars can be stories as much as reminders. I think one without the other would be a sad state of affairs in the end, how can you know what joy is without the sorrow? But I agree, some do have much more than others, and that. That is a balance I do not think any being has figured out yet." His world, things were so black and white, but here. Here it was all strange and shades of grey and colors both vibrant and muted and he? He was learning all the same.
But Fiach? Fiach didn't look at her like she was mad, even when she smiled. His chin dipped like he understood. Dying, dying wasn't what people all assumed. There were so many levels of death and so many different forms it took, and at times it was a rebirth, and some times it was all at once. He knew when he died the proper death he wouldn't become a spirit, a star, or another form, what he was only nature could take back. So his eyes were steady on hers and his hands still and maybe, just maybe he understood, because she breathed, and smiled, and danced, but there was something ticking below the surface, beneath that fog she wore so well and it spoke volumes more than anything--even if he couldn't quite place it. It wasn't madness.
It wasn't fog.
She was so clear, there was such clarity that it came off as the babblings of a mad woman. It was funny how the truth was far more frightening to people than a lie, and perhaps that is why Fiach understood in a way, because he was a ringer of truths--even if they could be twisted.
"I died at a dinner party not too incredibly long ago, though honestly, I can't keep track of time. Time is not my friend, as obscure as moments." He straightened. "I was then thrown away and forgotten, better dead. I was spoiled and vain, I still can be."