Peer Review by ajamwal ꒰•̹͡ິु•ິू꒱ (United States of America)()

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πτήση

By: Anha


FREE WRITING

the bright-eyed goddess keeps her eyes upon Moon, preparing her misty chariot to traverse our millenium sky. the coven wishes her well on her journey, and she blesses each who bid her farewell, a brush of stardust on their foreheads from her kiss. her silver-skinned arm keeps safe its ward, a babe swaddled in circumstance and divinity. when he blooms, the coven will have withered. they will not live to see him die. but he will bless their daughters and granddaughters as his προστάτης has done.

    the bright-eyed goddess kisses his forehead too, and presses a rune with her gentle fingers onto the dreaming babe's skin. πτήση. he will never see it, for no surface will reflect his brilliance in a way he can truly see. those who try will blind themselves with their futility. but beings like herself were not born with vanity wrapped like a summer's breeze behind their eyes. pride, yes, is a common fallacy among her brothers, but it is never their beauty that they choose to croon about. she sighs, and the ocean sighs with her.


    this child is not her blood. but she sends a whisper through his mind and tell him she is σςπίτι.

    she leaves him lying in his nebulae creche, his nursery, until he shines. a galactic orphan, how unfortunate. he wakes, and names himself. altair. the goddess has not left his mind, though he remembers her not. he stands, and a cloak of night adorns him. he is already fully grown, for they do not age as we do. he commandeers a stellar ship, mast carved from solar flares, whispers into its sails, με υπακούει, σου δίνω σκοπό, and skims across the milky waves away from his infancy.

    the bright-eyed goddess returns to find his nebulae creche abandoned and dim. she worries not, children are meant to explore. once he tastes freedom, he will grow into himself. ολό. she worries not.

    a god of flashing eyes and burning purpose cross the sky in his chariot, ablaze. he waits for no one, and a skinny little thing clings to the sides of his robes. "πατέρα," she says, voice shrill as a harpy, "είμαστε αρκετά αργά για να σκοτώσουμε τους αστρονόμους;" 'father' smiles only for himself. "
είμαστε." the sun is never late, the kings say from their thrones. the astronomers return to the dust from whence they came.


Message to Readers

tried to write an epilogue of sorts for the witches piece, but it turned into something completely new. tell me what you think, and whether you'd like to see more piece like this.


Peer Review

wow. the way you wrote this is exemplary, i adore your writing. you use such pristine words and write them in such a way as if you are sewing an intricate tapestry. wow.


i got a little confused when you started talking about astronomers, who are they and what do they have to do with the story. that is the only thing missing from this piece.


Reviewer Comments

i took me a week to ponder on some constructive feedback, as soon as i saw this piece i was going to comment, but i had no constructive feedback, but i had none. when you asked me to review i was searching for all the other pieces you wrote, but i really like this piece, so here i am. i hope you don't mind i only gave one tip for this piece. good luck on the rest of your writing!!