Meilin

It wasn't even true in your last life-- you weren't chosen, you were picked up from the street by the true hero. Like a baby bird in her hand, as winter reigned.

It was a cruel joke that you woke up here and had to do the same again. Promised warrior. You were named a warrior queen, and it was wrong, like it always had been. You couldn't do it.

So it was that hopelessness that had you walk up the hill to the pool that reflected the inevitable stars above, to see what future of yours was braced between them.

You looked into the starry pool and it was as cold as you knew, because you saw the written and unchangeable story of your past. Memories like a gentle breeze stirred up your heart, names that you dedicated to, names that made you sick to hear, things that you had already known and now knew you would repeat, until you could stand it no longer. Your future was laid out to you and it would happen just as it did, as if the new faces would change a thing.

But, just above the pool, there was a shimmery gauze of a reflection where your own face stared back at you, and your eyes: one orange, one green. One fire, one wind. Just like before, except...

...before, it was your right eye that was orange.



--lowkey
--violin player
--your existence lies on the edge of a performance, again
--your love lies on the edge of a moment, again