jeriendhal | 365 Days of Drabbles: Day One Hundred-Seventeen & One Hundred-Eighteen

For

aldersprig: "Worlds personified"

* * *

The soul pods floated the shiptree gently through the world's wispy atmosphere, its roots spreading to grip the harsh, rusty looking soil when it landed. A branch bent downwards, its pod opening to release Lorilee. A long rootling still connected her to the shiptree, letting her survive despite poisonous air.

World, I call you, she sang. I am the Singer of Earth, Sol's Child. Let me know you, and make friendly congress.

Too late, too late, came the reply. From the ground a tired old man appeared, dressed in rusted armor from a hundred different eras. I am near gone.

What happened?

I let them make war upon me, for it was my nature. My seas frothed, my core boiled, my plates cracked and spilled my hot blood over them. It made them strong, it made them harsh. Too harsh, for they fought to extinction. Now my earth is dead with poison, my seas boiled away, my air thin and dusty, my hot core cold. Too late for congress, too late for fruit to be borne up me. I am near gone.

What is your wish then? she asked gently.

Break me, and let me end.

As you so will.