R
Rainjay
Guest
It was late, the sun falling low in the sky, hiding behind the tops of the trees that Blythe could barely see outside of her window. The colors that were thrown across the sky were beautiful- she could pick out individual red and oranges and blues, the slight purple where colors bled together and ran like paint on a canvas, where the stars were beginning to shimmer and sparkle through the blanket that was the night. It was her favorite part of the night, every day, of every week.
She sat silently on her bed, a small paperback book in her hand, as she watched the sun lower from the sky, a silent moment she had to herself. And then, gingerly putting the book down on the bedspread and rising to her feet, she left the room without a word.
Outside, there was more color. Deep blues and indigo, shadows across wavering light and dust strobes through the air. The trees had become dark green and orange in color, their roots appearing ghostlike and scary in the dark. But she wasn't afraid of the growing dark. It was more like home to her than anything, a welcome in place of the bright day. Her eyes were so used to nothing that the sudden everything was even more blinding than blindness was. She wasn't sure if she liked it or not.
Approaching her favorite spot, she took a deep breath, and settled against the trunk of the big oak tree. The familiarity of the spot was comforting. She felt at peace, a strong soothing peace that went through her entire self. It wasn't something she had felt for a long time after the accident. Now, she relished every peaceful moment as if she could die at any moment. She supposed she could, and that was her general reasoning behind her actions. She knew how fragile life was, and was strongly reluctant to give it up again.
Once she was a wolf, she shook out her dark fur, and sat back, head tilted up to stare at the sky with her new, blessed eyes.