so darling, darling stand by me
ohh stand by me, stand by me
ohh stand by me, stand by me
Winter sings in ice crystals that cling to the wild of her hair, her skin. The starlight of her mane is threaded with cold and made untame by flurries that swirl around her legs and along her body. And under the dying light, the ebony of her skin becomes a night sky — snowflakes land on her like stars, before melting away at the touch of heat that burns below the surface of black silk. Her wings are tucked in close, so so close, that the soft feathers brush along her sides in sweet caresses that chase away the cold that lingers. But she cannot help but stare heavensward as the sky opens, weeping in falling snow. The beauty of it steals her breath, and all at once she finds that in the heart of a new kingdom, she does not yet feel the urge to leave. Not yet.
In the midst of the city, the stormsinger is spellbound; her hooves cling to the stones beneath her as if iced over, frosted to the spot. She does not realize that a painter has found her, let alone begun their work on the canvas that is her skin. Their paintbrushes are smooth along the curves of her muscles and down to the ivory of her legs, and only when they step back to marvel at her, does she curve her neck to take in the artwork on her body. She cannot help but smile softly, for from the tattooed constellations along the arch of her neck, the artists have expanded the star-map across her sides. Down her spine dances a galaxy in stark white and brilliant blue, and suddenly she has become a breathing Calligo. A daughter of her goddess's darkness, laid out in violet and rosy stars that expand over her entire frame.
Her smile is genuine as she departs, the shadows that encompass her only accentuating the stars that have become apart of her, if only temporarily. She melts into the gathering shadows, becoming one with the darkness at the edges of the city's walls. For a moment, her mind wanders, thinking of her daydreamer, her prince, who calls the boundary of this city's walls home. Then to Florentine, the honeyed queen, and then to her lover. Her King. But as quick as the thoughts enter, she shies away from them; with chains laden in silver and gold and stardust, the stormsinger binds them. Tonight.. she will not think of such things. Not now.
Now, she edges along the fray of festival goers. The city's walls pulse with music that drums with the beats of her heart, constricting her lungs with both longing and nostalgia. But something holds her still; be it the frost that holds her, or the falling snow that continues to enthrall her, she does not know. All she knows is that the bright blue of her gaze falls on a stranger who, like her, does not join the revelry. Once upon a time, she would have joined the dancers until dawn kissed the horizon. But not this night; for she toes closer to him, wary, but curious. Her eyes rove over the wondrous lines painted over his coat; and she follows them, like a treasure map. She cannot help but come to stand next to him, with smoke and stars hugging her close.
There is a cautious but soft chaos that writhes under her voice in murmurs, but she does not balk. Suddenly bold, either from newfound confidence painted onto her skin or something else, she speaks. "It seems the painters have been making living art of all their patrons," she says softly, her eyes like crystals. "I apologize. I don't mean to intrude," Aislinn finishes, dipping her crown in respect to the stranger glad in blue and silver.
@aion -boop- I hope you don't mind me throwing Ash in here c: ♡
"Aislinn speech."
