A I O N
She had been like a breath of fresh air—a whisper of wind breezing through to blow away the dust and cobwebs from the tired caverns of his soul. For the first time in a long time, Aion could breathe; he felt refreshed, nearly relaxed. His worries had vanished with the dust, paving the way for a deep seeded curiosity to take root: Aislinn intrigued him, with her wild eyes and calm voice, her blatant contradictions. ”I’m always lost, and never found.”
The storms and skies had once bowed to his will, at a time when he had held the power to control them, when magic had been as constant and reliable as the air he breathed. But here—here he stood following along in rhythm with her tempest. He felt like he knew her, this storm singer: and how could he not, when he had once communicated so intimately with the gale she represented? Perhaps this was why he felt so inexplicably drawn to her, as if she were an old friend wearing a stranger’s face.
It was as if she were the personification of a storm, and tonight proved to be showcasing the eye of it. She had swept him up along with her—there was no room for his fear and anxiety here, blown away as they were by the hurricane.
”I’d like to meet you again… Aion.” He met her eyes one last time, two shades of blue uniting in the darkness, bright and icy simultaneously. “Likewise, Aislinn.” He could use some more friends; gods knew he had none left, not after all this time.
And then she is gone; he is left only with the wind and the snowflakes, spiraling down to land gently on his nose. But the cold doesn’t burn him—it lives inside of him, embraces him. He breathes in slowly, and when he releases it he lets out a puff of frost with it. Something inside of him has changed; the snow dances along his skin, clinging to him like clothing.
The permafrost has bitten him—he’s replaced the storms with his own brand of ice. A smile takes over his face, and he too turns to disappear back into the lights of the party.
@Aislinn finally oml
aion is out!
"talking."
The storms and skies had once bowed to his will, at a time when he had held the power to control them, when magic had been as constant and reliable as the air he breathed. But here—here he stood following along in rhythm with her tempest. He felt like he knew her, this storm singer: and how could he not, when he had once communicated so intimately with the gale she represented? Perhaps this was why he felt so inexplicably drawn to her, as if she were an old friend wearing a stranger’s face.
It was as if she were the personification of a storm, and tonight proved to be showcasing the eye of it. She had swept him up along with her—there was no room for his fear and anxiety here, blown away as they were by the hurricane.
”I’d like to meet you again… Aion.” He met her eyes one last time, two shades of blue uniting in the darkness, bright and icy simultaneously. “Likewise, Aislinn.” He could use some more friends; gods knew he had none left, not after all this time.
And then she is gone; he is left only with the wind and the snowflakes, spiraling down to land gently on his nose. But the cold doesn’t burn him—it lives inside of him, embraces him. He breathes in slowly, and when he releases it he lets out a puff of frost with it. Something inside of him has changed; the snow dances along his skin, clinging to him like clothing.
The permafrost has bitten him—he’s replaced the storms with his own brand of ice. A smile takes over his face, and he too turns to disappear back into the lights of the party.
@Aislinn finally oml
aion is out!
"talking."
rhiann art
