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Catching the Star

Icastar's Diary (ii)

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shaiel
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Shaiel

Icastar's Diary (ii)

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shaiel

7th Day in the Shadow Garden

I’m growing used to this, I think. No longer do I mind the constant song of the stars, but I also think they have settled down. Yesterday I managed to fall asleep without a headache for the first time. Something to celebrate, I think.

I did, by having a night of blissful, uninterrupted sleep. Wonderful. Maskaoí seemed in a better mood when I woke this morning too, but that might have been because I didn’t spend the night turning over, muttering and generally keeping her awake.

I think this is strange for both of us, each well used to our isolation. I know I shared my sleep with Emoyi sometimes, but it is different with a babe, for one thing if she was sleeping then nothing I did would ever wake her. Sadly, the same never seemed to occur the other way around.

We will adapt, I am sure. In fact, I already think we begin to.

I am also growing used to the changing of the hours and light in the Garden. True, there is no sun to turn the sky a bright, bold blue, nor to tell me it is morning, but the turns of the stars is enough to count the hours. Also, the light they shed is almost as bright as daylight. I think Maskaoí must have some control over them, because I am certain they dim towards night. It is hard to tell. How much easier it would be if I could speak with them. I am almost jealous of her for having that ability.

Yet, it would be stupid to feel such a thing. She is not like me, she is so much more, yet somehow less. Vast and infinite, is how she describes herself, everything and nothing. I hope that in time my brain can adjust to such concepts. She thinks my confusion is sweet, and promises in time I will understand. I do not think I could understand should I live one hundred lifetimes.

Apparently, I will. She assured me of that only yesterday. I’m not sure I like it. Then again, like everything else here, I’m sure I will learn to adjust in all the time I have.

The Garden is mine now, in these precious hours of the morning, when the star song is at its richest, and Maskaoí is away doing whatever it is that she does. I no longer feel the solitude, only the peace of a beautiful place, and open spaces to explore.

Well, I say open, but it seems to be shrinking, trees keep appearing, and I even stumbled over a stream yesterday. I think Maskaoí is trying to make it more homely and familiar to me.

How I love her for it.

There’s a spider in my room now, he wasn’t there yesterday, and I could spend all day watching him. His body is a black ball, with a starburst of silver on his back, almost as though he has been splashed with ink by accident. He’s strange, not like normal spiders at all. For one thing there are no joints to his eight legs, they’re like strings, but flowing, workable strings. Though it is undoubtedly a spider, if with odd legs and a one section body, it looks more like a children’s drawing of one.

She seems so wise, so all knowing, so infinite even, yet sometimes she is far more innocent even than I am. How can I not love that about her?

Her temper is a force to behold though, and like a child she grows impatient when things don’t go her way, and frustrated when they don’t turn out as she expected.

I like that, it makes me feel… less than useless, I suppose. It reminds me that although I am not an Entity, nor am I pointless. I know things that she does not, have experienced things she could never have done. She is just a child in terms of reality, and I am able to be her teacher.

When she gives me so much, it is a relief to be able to give something back, no matter how small or insignificant it might seem to me. To her it is an entire world.

Or one day it might be.
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