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Current Novus date and time is

▶ Year || 503
▶ Season || Fall
▶ Temp || 35℉ (℃) - 69℉ (℃)
▶ Weather || Summer's iron grip has slowly faded into the gentler Fall embrace. The morning dew frosts over in the early morning hours and melts by the time the sun hits high in the sky. Many of the trees have traded their lush, vivid green for a more suitable array of red and orange hues. But don't blink, for Winter's cold embrace is fast upon Fall's heels.


Character of the Season

Member of the Season

Thread of the Season
r.i.p. to my youth;

Pair of the Season
Atreus and Fiona

Quote of the Season
"Are there lines she's crossing? Should she toe them or touch them with a pole and stay away wholly? But to avoid such a storm he offers, such a taste of life; to withhold herself from the chance to taste starlight, to love satin and silk and swallow pomegranate seeds not yet offered... She should be stronger." — Moira in
Small as a wish in a well

see here for nominations


Private - give us a little love
Fiona — Dusk Court Champion of Community Signos: 115
▶ Played by Katherine [PM] Posts: 25 — Threads: 5
▶ Female [She/Her/Hers] Hth: 15 — Atk: 5 — Exp: 13
▶ 8 [Year 495 Fall] Active Magic: N/A
▶ 14.1 hh Bonded: N/A
The trip to Denocte had not been an easy one. Fiona had been injured, weak, in shock. But while within the walls of the Night Court she had started to heal. While it had been kind of their new queen, Isra, to give them refuge, the court of the moon and stars would never be her home. She would never grow to know its streets or its people. While she had been there, more than anything she had sought solace, a place to be on her own.

The trip back from Denocte had been easier. Her side had healed, though sometimes she still twinged at the memory of glass slicing through her skin and there would always be a faint scar there, cutting across the lavender and ivory sky of her skin. Her mind had been clearer, her body stronger, and she was glad to be home in her court of twilight, surrounded by those she knew and cared for.

It was true that she should not have gone alone, back to her house, for the first time. Perhaps she should have waited, asked another to join her, but perhaps her pride was a little too great. Or her self-preservation not great enough. Whatever the case, the Champion of Community found herself standing before her home, or what was left of it. Although much of the structure remained intact the walls were scoured with angry black burn marks, and within much was reduced to ash and half-destroyed rubble.

The furniture her father had built, worked most of his life creating, she wasn’t how much of it was salvageable. All of her books, years of sketches, exchanges, thoughts. They were nothing now, left to her memories for those she could remember. Her vision blurred with tears and her chest tightened as she stood in the middle of everything that had ever been hers and was now gone. Even when she left, breathing fast and feeling as though she were physically in pain, the truth follow, clinging to her in ashen streaks on her skin.

After some searching she'd found a notebook and a pen, but unlike the many she had kept in her home this one was empty. There were no flowers pressed between sheets of paper, no carefully scrawled pieces of conversations. No drawings but for a few sketches, started and then abandoned, half finished lines with no purpose. In the past, Fiona had always enjoyed starting a new notebook but now this felt as empty as the blank ivory pages.

At length she discovered herself within the citadel walls, wandering past the courtyard and into a quiet room. Hesitantly, and clinging to the book in her possession, Fiona lowered herself onto a cushion and then opening to one of the pages, she began to draw. Instead of thinking about what her subject should be, she allowed her mind to drift. As the pen scratched over the paper, slowly, an image started to come to life.

[Image: fionaicon_by_nocturnalowlet-dc866bu.png]
with the lovely
flowers in her hair

Asterion — Dusk Court Sovereign Signos: 1,100
▶ Played by Griffin [PM] Posts: 258 — Threads: 25
▶ Male [He/Him/His] Hth: 32 — Atk: 28 — Exp: 69
▶ 6 [Year 496 Winter] Active Magic: Water Manipulation
▶ 16 hh Bonded: Cirrus (Pallas's Gull)
in sunshine and in shadow*

  He wonders if his heart has grown, to be able to hold so many conflicting feelings - surely it must have, for he cannot remember it being so full when he was only a boy with each day a new adventure.

Then there had been room for excitement, for hope, for just a touch of fear - but now, oh now, everything his gaze touches within Terrastella summons a roil of emotions. There is sadness, there is guilt, there is fierce pride and fiercer joy; most of all there is love, love like a sea for the court that has become his home. Maybe someday it would be enough to wash the rest of those feelings clean. For now, there are still too many scars, too many wounds not yet healed by summer sun or the flowers that bloomed on the mud-slick hills.

The king had been restless, had wandered the prairie and the cliffside and the swamp with Cirrus above him all through the long summer day. As the light thickened to gold then darkened to deep purple he at last turned toward the city, weary and dirty but with his mind, at least, quieter.

He parts from Cirrus at the wide wooden doors, promising to meet with her on the cliffside below the pale wedge of moon. The gull nips at his ear - a bird’s kiss - and then is gone, pale as a spirit in the deepening evening. Asterion watches her until she is gone beyond the curve of the castle, and then he steps inside.

The wandering mood still has a hold of him; with no destination in mind he walks the hallways of his keep, greeting those he meets, never settling. For a moment he is a wanderer again, but within his own walls; it is not until he steps by chance into a quiet room and finds Fiona that he at last stops.

At first he thinks he is alone; it is not until his ears catch the soft scrabble of the pencil, the softer sound of her breathing, that his gaze catches on her. For a moment he says nothing, only watches the Champion as she works at her drawing; he cannot see what she creates so instead reads the truths written on her skin in tear-tracks and ash, and feels his heart sink low as a stone.

But then he nickers, and crosses the room toward her until he stands above her. His gaze moves between the shapes on the page and the dusky purple of her skin (so like the sky outside). Gently he reaches out, touches his muzzle to the curve of her shoulder, closes his eyes at the dusty smell of ash.

Asterion does not ask if she is well; the answer is written on her skin, in her eyes. They weave pretty lies for each other, his friends and his court; he hasn’t the heart to hear them now. Instead he watches the pencil sweep across the paper in its dance, and says softly (as if afraid to disturb the peace of the room), “Did someone teach you how to draw, when you first began? None of the sketches I’ve seen in the markets are half so lovely as yours.”

@Fiona <3


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