(there's no right or wrong, so this is perfect! <3)
[She waits for him. Soundless, yet as if beckoning without demand. Someone murmuring they're there, even if you turn away, permanent as the sun itself.
Initially, when he asks if she means from home, she thinks of the Celestial Plains. Her own dwelling, destroyed now, no one left alive. It confuses her, and before she can hold it back, a stout whine loosens. Then, she realizes he must mean the first country on Earth to have learned of her existence. The second whine is longer, softer, a tone of reassurance, and she steps toward him, but she won't reach for him first—this is a matter of him confronting his curiosity, of coming to terms, and she can't force him. So, she waits for him.
She is nothing like the imagined depictions of what she must look like, although these images have always touched her. Yet hints remain all over her: radiating pale light, the swirling feathers that extend from shoulders, from slim furred wrists and ankles. The mirror hovering in a slow spin over her back, surrounded in a fixed holy fire. Part of her wishes she could call the sun out, but even if her very core use hadn't been robbed from her, would it work in simulation? This would be the largest giveaway, she's certain, and she wonders if anyone who knows the name Amaterasu can trust who she is.
Of the sun, and yet, she can't control the sun any longer. Not this sun, though she feels still some strange pulling and connection to it. Perhaps it's a star-thing. Stripping everything else away, that's what she is, isn't it? Some star that fell out of the sky, burning brightly, dimmed now. His eyes seem as if they're staring through her to the truth, and she's positive it's only a matter of waiting until he's ready.]
no subject
[She waits for him. Soundless, yet as if beckoning without demand. Someone murmuring they're there, even if you turn away, permanent as the sun itself.
Initially, when he asks if she means from home, she thinks of the Celestial Plains. Her own dwelling, destroyed now, no one left alive. It confuses her, and before she can hold it back, a stout whine loosens. Then, she realizes he must mean the first country on Earth to have learned of her existence. The second whine is longer, softer, a tone of reassurance, and she steps toward him, but she won't reach for him first—this is a matter of him confronting his curiosity, of coming to terms, and she can't force him. So, she waits for him.
She is nothing like the imagined depictions of what she must look like, although these images have always touched her. Yet hints remain all over her: radiating pale light, the swirling feathers that extend from shoulders, from slim furred wrists and ankles. The mirror hovering in a slow spin over her back, surrounded in a fixed holy fire. Part of her wishes she could call the sun out, but even if her very core use hadn't been robbed from her, would it work in simulation? This would be the largest giveaway, she's certain, and she wonders if anyone who knows the name Amaterasu can trust who she is.
Of the sun, and yet, she can't control the sun any longer. Not this sun, though she feels still some strange pulling and connection to it. Perhaps it's a star-thing. Stripping everything else away, that's what she is, isn't it? Some star that fell out of the sky, burning brightly, dimmed now. His eyes seem as if they're staring through her to the truth, and she's positive it's only a matter of waiting until he's ready.]