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Hmm but what if this is how stardust!chuuya falls to the earth? Not as a shooting star streaking across the sky, but as a multitude of dancing lights never seen before and never seen again. One night where the heavens burst into so much colour and fanfare and celebration. https://twitter.com/vxsuals/status/1220808609002676226">https://twitter.com/vxsuals/s...
Or that& #39;s what the humans think anyway. It& #39;s not a celebration. It& #39;s a lament. The sky is weeping for She has lost Her dearest son, he has left Her abode.
The brightest red star—
exploding into nothing.
And so She gathers what little is left of him that She loves the most—
The brightest red star—
exploding into nothing.
And so She gathers what little is left of him that She loves the most—
All these little bits of light and sparkle and glow that She cradles in Her arms, that the wind carries carefully down to earth. She breathes new life into him, gives him a new, yet frail form that is but a mere shadow of what he once was—
It& #39;s better than nothing.
It& #39;s better than nothing.
But Chuuya remains to be Chuuya. His glow may have been dimmed, but it& #39;s still there, ever present in the twinkle of his eyes, his one-of-a-kind reddish hair, even the delight in his laughter.
He& #39;s still Her Chuuya, and the sky will have to be content watching him from afar.
He& #39;s still Her Chuuya, and the sky will have to be content watching him from afar.
With me being me, i have an actual semi-reference for star!chuuya. https://www.sciencefocus.com/news/is-the-betelgeuse-star-about-to-explode/">https://www.sciencefocus.com/news/is-t...
Maybe this happens when Fyodor is but a sickly boy aged ten, one who has a habit of taking ten-minute treks through the woods he lives in to reach the clearing by the cliff, seeking for what little peace he can find in his day-to-day.
Nevermind that it& #39;s past midnight—he knows these paths intimately, and the stars always shine brighter up the mountain.
Nevermind these short walks leave him exhausted and breathless—it& #39;s a small price to pay for this stillness he can& #39;t find anywhere else.
Nevermind these short walks leave him exhausted and breathless—it& #39;s a small price to pay for this stillness he can& #39;t find anywhere else.
The wind is too biting. His clothes are too thin. He clutches his ushanka tight around his head but it does nothing to warm him.
His eyes are a dull purple, there& #39;s a matching bruise on his cheek, his stomach is rumbling.
The grass is tall enough. If only it would consume him.
His eyes are a dull purple, there& #39;s a matching bruise on his cheek, his stomach is rumbling.
The grass is tall enough. If only it would consume him.
He looks up at just the right time.
Lights suddenly burst from the sky and it startles him so badly he would stumble if he weren& #39;t already sitting down.
Blues and greens and reds and violets and shades upon shades that he can& #39;t name painted across the usually dark night sky.
Lights suddenly burst from the sky and it startles him so badly he would stumble if he weren& #39;t already sitting down.
Blues and greens and reds and violets and shades upon shades that he can& #39;t name painted across the usually dark night sky.
His neck strains, his eyes water, as he looks up, up, up, because the vision never ends and it would be criminal to miss a single second of it.
The lights hang so low they feel deceivingly within reach. Like they could be warm, if only his freezing fingers could touch them.
The lights hang so low they feel deceivingly within reach. Like they could be warm, if only his freezing fingers could touch them.
He& #39;s barely had enough time to get used to the sight when all the colours seemingly coalesce into this blinding redwhite light. It hurts staring at it for too long, quite like how it feels whenever he leaves his dim bedroom and the sun shines too bright on his eyes.
He squints through the pain, and watches as the light funnels down, down, down, as though it& #39;s headed for the ground somewhere behind the mountain, somewhere he cannot possibly see.
Until all that remains is a single beam tinged red that eventually dissolves into nothing.
Until all that remains is a single beam tinged red that eventually dissolves into nothing.
He was blinded by the light and now he& #39;s blinded by the dark, and he can only clutch the grass with his fingers to ground himself.
He& #39;s still cold and hungry and bruised all over, but his heart is pounding.
He wants to know.
He *desperately* wants to know.
He& #39;s still cold and hungry and bruised all over, but his heart is pounding.
He wants to know.
He *desperately* wants to know.
He wants to know what the lights left behind. He wants to know and see and touch whatever it is with his bare hands.
He tugs the ushanka down, but the frayed ends barely protect his ears.
(Could he steal it for himself, he wonders.)
He looks behind at the path leading home.
He tugs the ushanka down, but the frayed ends barely protect his ears.
(Could he steal it for himself, he wonders.)
He looks behind at the path leading home.
(Home. What a hilarious word that is.)
The sun will rise in a few hours. A new day will start.
One day closer to carving out his freedom and leaving this wretched place for good.
(One day closer to finding that which the lights have left behind.)
The sun will rise in a few hours. A new day will start.
One day closer to carving out his freedom and leaving this wretched place for good.
(One day closer to finding that which the lights have left behind.)
forgot to note that i might not add anymore to this thread because i do want to flesh this out into an actual story hopefully soon
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