Work Text:
There is rain here, Narcissus.
Here, see.
There is rain.
But yes, of course, you cannot see.
You won’t.
You do not wish to see what bothers us, what lies just beyond your reflection.
See, see how it falls?
Beautiful, isn’t it?
It's just as we imagined, is it not?
See its shape, its shifting body of season?
Please.
Oh, dear Narcissus.
You see, what you neglect to glimpse, what you do not care to grasp is what makes us beautiful.
When dancing in the rain, we do not seek to snatch the glisten of the droplets or the whistle of their fall.
We care not for their reason or their broken beginnings through shattering thunderclouds.
We pay no heed to their faults, their adversity.
When the rain is here, we dance, Narcissus.
We dance with the rain, we bathe in its coolness, we cherish it.
Look, please.
It is beyond beauty.
It is evanescent - yet it is here, at long last.
It is life - life with which you could find peace.
Please see, Narcissus.
It is important to me.
I find comfort in the simplicity, in the ease of its weight in the bountiful cup of my welcoming palm.
The rain is limitless.
It tumbles from above in a prepossessing waltz - a muse of mystery.
In spindled form, it prides in death, Narcissus.
The rain must fall or no flower shall grow.
No meadow would bloom with dignity and heart were it not for the rain.
And I, Narcissus, I could not live were it not for the kindness of the rain.
No Echo exists whilst the rain continues to fall, flooding springs with its joy.