lysander
Lysander sees the galaxy in those ocean-colored eyes.
The first thing he had been caught by was her voice, the rhythm of it, the way it rose and fell like the waves. The once-god did not doubt that the girl in the story knew well the sea; the familiarity of it was there in her voice, deep as a trench, glimmering on the surface.
Oh, how he did love a story and its teller.
It drew him in until he was standing just outside the circle of children, their attention rapt on her, all of them looking like fae creatures of the meadow with glitter on their skin and flowers in their hair.
Though the memory of the last festival was still hard in his mind and written in a pale scar just behind his ribs, Lysander could not help but fall a little in love with this one. It reminded him so of home.
She did, too, this stranger whose voice wove an enchantment, whose body was stardust and the dark beneath the waves. If Florentine was an anthousai, this storyteller was something else. A Nereid, far from her waves.
When she glanced up and met his deep green gaze, Lysander swept aside whatever destination he’d had in mind in favor of this small circle of magic in the growing dark. With the slightest of nods, a smile like a secret, he bedded down in the grass behind the foals and waited, just as rapt as they, for her to continue.
@Isra and any!
