![[Image: lothaire_chibi2_by_outofthefurnace-dbkx9cu.png]](https://orig09.deviantart.net/50c2/f/2017/234/4/0/lothaire_chibi2_by_outofthefurnace-dbkx9cu.png)
The letter had laid unopened beneath Lothaire's door in his absence; it was the first thing he noticed upon pushing into his cool shadowy chambers, and he had picked it up slowly - studying it with a gaze coloured by detached interest. Setting himself upon silk bedsheets, Lothaire emptied a sigh into the growing dark - watching as the cimmerian light clung to the particles of dust swirling around candles flickering so tenderly in the dusk. Seven candles - one for each time he had caught himself from falling too deep into the night.
After many slow moments had passed, the emissary - returning from a long journey north - opened the letter, his vast and rugged hands gliding over the parchment. An invitation, a meeting, Aislinn's hair falling easily into wide palms. It crossed his mind that perhaps instead he would prefer to lay down his weary head; to allow the stars to fill his head and his hair - but he knew better. Such an occasion would be important, and valuable, so silently he slipped forth into the dimming air.
She was pacing when he arrived, her plaited silver-kissed locks shifting tepidly with every turn and sway. Lothaire stood in the doorway, spectral and mute, shadows bonding to his pale and malachite skin. Slowly he drifted into the room, curling himself into a particularly dusty corner - not once removing his gaze from Aislinn's form. He might have mentioned the anxious energy rolling from the woman, might have offered respite, but tonight there came from his lips only a simple greeting. Lo was learning. "Evening, Aislinn."
After many slow moments had passed, the emissary - returning from a long journey north - opened the letter, his vast and rugged hands gliding over the parchment. An invitation, a meeting, Aislinn's hair falling easily into wide palms. It crossed his mind that perhaps instead he would prefer to lay down his weary head; to allow the stars to fill his head and his hair - but he knew better. Such an occasion would be important, and valuable, so silently he slipped forth into the dimming air.
She was pacing when he arrived, her plaited silver-kissed locks shifting tepidly with every turn and sway. Lothaire stood in the doorway, spectral and mute, shadows bonding to his pale and malachite skin. Slowly he drifted into the room, curling himself into a particularly dusty corner - not once removing his gaze from Aislinn's form. He might have mentioned the anxious energy rolling from the woman, might have offered respite, but tonight there came from his lips only a simple greeting. Lo was learning. "Evening, Aislinn."
ooc: this is so small and bleh, sorry @Aislinn
