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"Come back to bed, don't go,"
Gaia's eyes glowed like a wistful summer's morning. The corners of her lips turned up, eyes narrowing at Égáta who sat with her back against the wall, sunlight hitting her content face. The air was calm; only the chirping of birds and gentle commotion of people walking about outside filling the quiet. Égáta's tranquility steadied her mind.
Only in recent years had Égáta regained solitude in the life she lived. In the daily routines she had. When a girl once asked her where her story began, she fell still. For there was no definitive answer. In many ways, her story began before her birth, though she was not yet aware of the extent of it. Nor had she felt prepared for such a philosophical question, going on to spend that day in deep thought.
She had always detested stories of faraway adventures. It made her life feel inadequate, and made it difficult to ignore the occasional wanderlust, that flowed through her young heart.
A faint hum made its way past Gaia's smirking lips as Égáta lied down beside her, their dark eyes meeting. Égáta inhaled softly, breaking their eye contact, and instead trailing her fingertips gently up Gaia's arm. "It is starting soon," she muttered. The happiness inside her was flourishing. Her fingers met the slightly raised skin on Gaia's bicep, tracing the patterns they seemed to make, and her brows furrowed. The marks were not painful. Not anymore. Now only serving as a bitter reminder of the unjust treatment Gaia had endured in Nornheim. It still pained Égáta to see her traumas.
The room was adorned in golden sunlight, reflecting from the buildings outside. Gaia's various plants had grown wildly, snaking around, and clinging to all within reach. When Égáta had once asked why she insisted on keeping so many, Gaia had said it made her feel free. Égáta understood.
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