[ kaveh, who has neither read about or been told about the padisarahs, bites into his rambutan. alhaitham peels another. he eats it slowly as the memory unfurls between them - purple of the land, framed against the blue of the sky. the sweet scent of something warm and alive, alight with laughter and dance. alhaitham has never liked purple. kaveh does, as he does anything with colour. between the two of them, they sit against the divine tree, kaveh thinking of padisarahs that he has never seen, alhaitham seeing the padisarahs that kaveh has never seen.
the flowers of death.
the comment amuses him. only kaveh - bold, beautiful, impossible you - could come up with a thought like this, to a person like alhaitham, whom nobody in sumeru would believe could dream anything with colour, let alone with delicacy. but it is kaveh, and it is alhaitham. the sound that comes from alhaitham is one of consideration. he presses the last peeled rambutan into kaveh's hand. ]
It had not been nightfall. But the flowers defied shadows. Dreams are not meant to make sense, but their purple was not a colour that I had seen in this world. I identified them as padisarahs through that alone.
i will frame this tag tbh, 'longest 70 minutes of kain's life'
the flowers of death.
the comment amuses him. only kaveh - bold, beautiful, impossible you - could come up with a thought like this, to a person like alhaitham, whom nobody in sumeru would believe could dream anything with colour, let alone with delicacy. but it is kaveh, and it is alhaitham. the sound that comes from alhaitham is one of consideration. he presses the last peeled rambutan into kaveh's hand. ]
It had not been nightfall. But the flowers defied shadows. Dreams are not meant to make sense, but their purple was not a colour that I had seen in this world. I identified them as padisarahs through that alone.