01-21-2023, 06:03 AM
She crested the ridge, her legs aching with an exhilarating exhaustion, and there it was. Between the pines, peeking behind the uneven horizon, was the brilliant blood-orange sunrise. It almost hurt her eyes to look at it, but Jacqueline paid no mind to the sensation. Red sky in the morning, she thought, expelling a translucent puff of vapor into the air from her nostrils, Traveller’s warning.
There was precipitation moving in from the east, she expected. Or, was it west? Dammit, Jacqueline, this is something you should know by now.
Precipitation was coming. From somewhere. It wasn’t a foolproof indicator, but it had worked many times during her childhood. She’d witnessed and heard about many Lenoir navigators using it.
If she was staring the sun in the face, that meant she was facing east. She was frustrated to admit it, but travel through the mountains and trying to feed herself had caused her to veer off course. No matter; she would continue her descent south after climbing down the ridge.
Between peaks, her eyes found the sliver of a valley below. Oh, hello. New plan: investigate whatever that is.
Her eyes lingered on the sun a moment longer. It was brilliant, a giant spectre burning a hole in the sky. She wanted it. Jacqueline would make herself known in these lands, claim a sprawling empire for herself that encompassed even the sunrise. Perhaps she wanted to be it, not claim it.
She found the sound of a name on the tip of her tongue, a surname she’d been mulling over. Her voice was raspy from disuse as she uttered it: ”Bissette.”
And then, again: ”Bissette. Jacqueline Bissette.” Her voice was clearer, then. More confident. This was her new identity, her final ‘fuck-you’ to her parents and their monarchy, the schism of who she grew up as and who she would become.
Jacqueline Bissette descended the ridge, paying no mind to her aching paws, hearing only the crunch of the snow beneath her.
There was precipitation moving in from the east, she expected. Or, was it west? Dammit, Jacqueline, this is something you should know by now.
Precipitation was coming. From somewhere. It wasn’t a foolproof indicator, but it had worked many times during her childhood. She’d witnessed and heard about many Lenoir navigators using it.
If she was staring the sun in the face, that meant she was facing east. She was frustrated to admit it, but travel through the mountains and trying to feed herself had caused her to veer off course. No matter; she would continue her descent south after climbing down the ridge.
Between peaks, her eyes found the sliver of a valley below. Oh, hello. New plan: investigate whatever that is.
Her eyes lingered on the sun a moment longer. It was brilliant, a giant spectre burning a hole in the sky. She wanted it. Jacqueline would make herself known in these lands, claim a sprawling empire for herself that encompassed even the sunrise. Perhaps she wanted to be it, not claim it.
She found the sound of a name on the tip of her tongue, a surname she’d been mulling over. Her voice was raspy from disuse as she uttered it: ”Bissette.”
And then, again: ”Bissette. Jacqueline Bissette.” Her voice was clearer, then. More confident. This was her new identity, her final ‘fuck-you’ to her parents and their monarchy, the schism of who she grew up as and who she would become.
Jacqueline Bissette descended the ridge, paying no mind to her aching paws, hearing only the crunch of the snow beneath her.