Tavros Nitram didn't really like how the sky looked on Alternia. It was always dark, and the clouds were too heavy and slow-moving. The atmosphere is not the friendliest, and he didn't really enjoy looking at the various plumes of condensed black water.
He decided the skies in the fairytales looked the best. They were described to be a vivid colour of deep azure. The clouds were white and puffy, also soft like cotton candy. Whenever it rained in fairytales, the rain was described to have a spectrum of colours. But mostly blue, because the wisest storytellers said that the sky had tainted the drips and drops before sending them on their merry way.
But that's a silly thing to think of right now, when thirst ran across the parched earth in the form of liquid brown. Stains thick as oil ran their way down his shirt, down his neck. It clogged up his mouth and filled his nostrils and he wanted to scream but he would choke. He tried to move but something was pinning him down, piercing him through the chest.
The sky was rumbling, thunder growled silently. Lightning came in the odd form of sniffs and hiccups. The sky towered over the earth, and it started to weep. Pitter patter, splish splash. But it's too late now, the land is dying. It may very well be already dead. Though there was still a little consciousness in it, and it stirred.
Tavros opened his eyes halfway. His vision was blurred, his head hurt. Nothing made sense. Everything was just the sky and how it was muttering in a low voice with some high-pitched squeaks and sobs. There was a flash of orange, a streak of yellow, a flutter of bright blue. He tried to speak again, but found the rusty, metallic taste of blood and coughed. His throat was dry and with every movement it screamed and hurt as if he was being stabbed.
Thunder ceased, electricity calmed. The ground quivered and the clouds stooped lower, sweeping their playful curls and tickling the terrain with thin strands. Ragged breezes blew.
One, two, three… Tavros's mind was too distorted to count. It seemed as if two eyes had opened up in the sky, and one of them had several pupils. They blinked, sending the ground shaking again. But they weren't eyes… Right? They were gates, holding back the rain. The rain. The sweet, sweet water that the land needed the most.
"You're not going to be telling anyone about this." Vriska hissed, the rain pushed and nudged its way to the earth and snuggled itself amongst the brown pools. Tavros nodded, not knowing what it meant, and stooped his head to look at the puddles the sky had made. Little, clear puddles, but also slightly cerulean. The earth blew a hot, dusty sigh and settled.
The storm began again. But he didn't need to see to know how it looked like. The visualizations he had from every single bedtime story had permanently etched itself into his head. The water was faint blue, always faint blue. The sky likes to make it that way, likes to paint it. The sky's so artistic.
His second last thought was surprisingly conscious. He thought about how beautiful her tears were.
But no, Vriska doesn't cry, right? She never cries, she's always too busy being stronger than me to cry.
It's raining. Yes, it must be.
It's raining drops of sky.