THE WEAVE:
Vesta enters the steering
room, and quietly closes
the door behind her…
"Its okay if you are tired, Persephone," Vesta says, without pretense, "I can take over." "I thought you were in the Library?" Persephone looks at Vesta, surprised to see her. Vesta shrugs, "I am wherever I need to be. I was there, but I found this poem you wrote, and I felt that you might need it." She hands Persephone, a wrinkled piece of parchment. At the top, it reads, 'XVIII:THE MOON'. "Thanks..." Persephone trails, as she takes it. "Why don't you ebb back to your bunk, and I'll steer the Ferry, for a while." "Okay, thanks V." Vesta nods, and takes the wheel, "Did you distribute the diaries?" "Yeah," Persephone affirms, "It's just a Matter of Time Now..."
XVIII:THE MOON You should know, you are not the first to make me his muse, and it's a far Way for me to peek down from that pedestal. There are songs about my Love, sung to thousands of people; lyrics printed on t-shirts, worn by girls who think they are me. There is a Labyrinth, built from my whispers, next to a swing born from my image. There are tattoos, drawn from my essence. There are poems, pulled from my tides. I will inspire you to Dream, there is no question of that. I am not telling you this, because I am proud, but because you should know: my Darkness glows in tandem with my Light. I will fall into mySelves, from ebb to ebb, and you may not be able to find yourSelf there. You would not be the first, to let me go when you discover, I cannot alWays be your reflection.
“The rage that craves you
crumbles all that could be
good about you. It eats
a-Way, like acid, in a belly
destitute. Sick with Empty,
full of Nothing, brimming over
with Despair. It pains me
in these moments, I Now know
my soul too, lives there.”
-The Oracle of Passeridae
Planetary Signatures 