ORIGIN

She had made sure that Pounce was safe before she wandered off again. It was an insatiable habit to wander, for her, and she just needed to move after a while. What drove her to constantly move? Was it a wander lust? Or was it just the irascible desire to catch things that grabbed her interest? She felt like she was constantly on the search for that feeling she had yet to feel, that itch that she couldn't reach, that twinge in her heart. It wouldn't leave her alone.

She had an obsession, and she needed to mull it over.

She walked through Cetus only half paying attention to her surroundings, having become quite accustomed to the ways of the earth and marsh. She had no trouble by now, and hadn't slipped into the muddy water in what seemed like ages.

What was it that she was searching for, exactly? She knew that whenever she encountered something truly interesting, it pulled at her like a romantic embrace, catching her breath and making her eyes go wide. She felt like she was in love with such situations.

It was...difficult to describe.

"This is how I speak."

From when she woke up and was comforted by the incredibly contrary Saudade and feeling that incredible rush of emotions when it made her precious little beauty, to having the compelling and treacherous eyes of Ji'Bassa on her, to seeing the Fisher conquer its shyness and cry out against the cruelty of the shadow king in her story, to watching the clever cat Barthos make the ground tremble and dance powerfully under her feet and be so humble about it -- all of it captured her heart in those incredible moments. They were unique and indescribable, each one.

She decided that it was those moments that she chased after. They were the sweets she craved, the light she desperately needed in her life. They were good to her, but that...that didn't describe them fully. She wanted them, needed those moments. It was a craving she couldn't shake for a fleeting moment of pure beauty, and she always wanted more.

She found herself frowning. Was this, in essence, a bad thing? Was it so bad to want to hold these moments so close to her?

"This is how I speak."

Seeing Pounce for the first time, watching that pure innocence beam so brightly at her with its unadulterated love, to having the realization of its ability to kill slowly dawn on it....It was horrible and beautiful and tragic, and she couldn't draw herself away from it. She felt herself torn for little Pounce, because she wanted to shelter the cub from everything and keep the harsh truths from it, but detached from that feeling, she couldn't help admiring the change, from her story-dream like state. Pounce was a story in motion that she could watch from the very beginning.

How to describe it....it was like...one was addicted to music, and constantly followed the beat they could only barely hear. And when you were really lucky, you heard the song. A song to fill your heart and make you cry, a song that was over too quickly. It crooned to her like a siren song, always eluding her until it had her in its embrace.

At this, she smiled a bitter, twisted smile. If only she could take these songs and put them in bottles, hang them up on a wall, and hoard them like some love-sickened fool.

Maybe she could center her next story around this elusive feeling. About two lovers...one who always ran away and taunted the other, who always chased after, addicted to those moments where they could meet. The first, the siren, treated it like a game, until...until it was caught.

"This is how I speak."

She frowned still, her eye barely seeing the ground she walked. She felt more like the poor sap that was strung along, trying to catch the elusive feeling like some fairy that was always just outside of her grasp. She almost wanted to manipulate it, to force its hand, but like love, she knew, such actions would stain it irreparably. The song would be garbled and false. No song was better than a dirtied one.

She mused over this for a while, lost in thought, till she completely forgot where she was and slipped in the shin-high muddy water, crying out in surprise. She gathered herself quickly, scowling at herself, scrambling back onto solid ground, mentally berating herself for being so absent-minded. Luckily the mud in the water was thin here, so instead of a coating, it barely stained her pale white legs.

She looked around for a place to sit and collected herself down on the damp grass to clean herself. It seemed to fit the tale she was gathering in her mind, that the poor sap would never watch where it went, always falling and climbing back and falling just to keep up with its obsession. She wiped some of the stain on the grass and licked the rest, absently methodical, only realizing till now that she hadn't stopped her frown.

"This is how I speak."

She banished it from her expression, but the feeling of frowning inside persisted. She was never this dismal on her travels or her constant wander-musings....actually, she was never this dismal at all. Her heart was reflecting bitterness on itself like a hall of mirrors, and she didn't like it. It was good inspiration, but to experience it for herself was painful.

There must be something good about this fellow chasing after the siren! There couldn't be only hardship and turmoil and sacrifice that kept it locked in this obsession, there had to be good moments too. Something that made the pain worthwhile.

Keeping her expression still, she thought about all of the wonderful things that she got to experience because of this need of hers. She met so many other gembounds that made everything wonderful for her, made her life vivid and vibrant every day.

"This is how I speak."

Was that what the strung-along sap was missing? Was that why it was so sad? There was more to life than the need to hold onto only the brilliant sparks - there was more, there were moments so humbling and beautiful in their own ways that lacked the eye-catching sheen she craved. Laughing with Azazel, catching Saudade's eye with hidden meaning in its gaze, cheering up and catching the interest of countless gems she'd come across with her stories....the everyday activities that were so easy to take for granted.

Even the bad moments, the times that made her upset or cry, like eating those pale red berries that made her horribly sick when she was still only a cycle old and alone, the endless moments when she was young when it was dark and she couldn't walk and talk as well as the others she had met, and she was always afraid. When, because her confidence was shot and self-damaged, she actually had avoided others for fear of judgement. Those moments were important too, just as important as the good times. They made who she was, and could never be replaced.

She had to remember to be grateful for the time she was given.

"This is how I speak."

Outside of the story she gathered, she knew it was ridiculous to feel so forcibly manipulative of those fleeting moments. They were beautiful because they were fleeting, and she knew this. If everything was rare and gorgeous, nothing would be. If one was stuck in a wonderful moment, it would cease to be wonderful. It would be just a moment like another, and it was all relative.

Better to just....let it go.

She frowned again, this time lightly, mulling it over, forgetting the act of cleaning herself, her eye glazing over in response to the thought. She let her posture slouch in her thoughtfulness. What was she to do then, stay in one place and stop chasing the music?

No...

No, she just needed to let the song happen. Relax. Breathe. Do what she did before and simply go to meet others, see new things, and be herself.

"This is how I speak."

It felt like letting go of her lover, the siren that loved to run away. She wanted nothing more than to hold it close to her, but this obsession was starting to become unhealthy. It was a constant lovesickness that had started to grow ever since her first story.

She breathed slowly, in and out, feeling the tension in her heart relax.

Just let it happen. Appreciate it when it does. Let it be a part of you, rather than a possession of yours.

Realize that every even that happened was precious in its own way. Rather than those incredibly sparkling moments, those intense crescendos of song.....everything was music. You just had to appreciate the thoughtful nuances, the notes that were hard to hear.

She curled up to herself, sighing deeply. She was so silly.

Her ear twitched. Pounce had woken up, it seemed, and was calling to her. She got up slowly, her eye and her heart clear, and followed the music.

-exit thread-

"This is how I speak."

Belladonna

Belladonna

Belladonna

Belladonna

Belladonna

Belladonna

Belladonna

Belladonna