Standing quietly, wings held tightly against his sides, Eidolon kept his eyes on the horizon. His mind wandered in the meantime, thinking about what was to come and existential theories about how he came to be where he was. Not the least of these was Reichenbach soon to be battling with him. How curious it was that someone as new blooded to the night court as himself would be up against its Sovereign in such a short time. Not to any end other than a good fight but still. Never had he imagined being in this situation willingly and more or less for fun. Sure, he would likely learn some things through this but that was only if he could spare the time to think critically while they knocked the sense out of eachother. Eidolon thought himself, or at least liked to fancy the idea, that he would be decent enough at battle. His size, at least, would give him some sort of advantage. Then again, to be Sovereign, Reichenbach would certainly be no push over. Power was only held through respect and from what he had learned of this Court's members, being able to fend for oneself was important. Honestly he hadn't a clue what to really expect. It didn't seem to bother him though; being in the dark about this. There was something about the building thrill of not knowing that tickled him in just the right way.
Besides all of that, Eidolon wanted to know the abilities of the man who had a kingdom weighing on his shoulders. Was such a heavy crown a burden to drown beneath or was it a challenge that forced its wearer to rise above the impossible? What were the ways of a leader, and how did they survive the ever-looming pressures? Among mortals, it was leaders that came closest to godhood, but certainly there was a price to pay for it. All this curiosity, and no answers to come for it. Not now anyway. Instead there was silence except for the man's own ruffling and occasional sighs. More than anything he had a hope that he would not embarrass himself too terribly in this endeavor. The thought of proving to be worthless in combat did not sit with Eidolon well. If he couldn't fight how was he supposed to protect anything he cared for?
Jezanna came to mind. Her presence somewhere in this land was always a comfort to him, and though she despised his company for the time being, he could not help but keep an eye out for her and check in once in a while. Oh would she only let him close enough to comfort her, he was sure she would come around to this new land. In the one before she had been tethered to her parents like some helpless child but Eidolon knew better. She was strong and beautiful in her own ways and could stand on her own. He hoped he could help her realize that.
Ears perked, he thought perhaps he had heard someone approaching and his eyes were brought up to meet the others'. All aforementioned thoughts seeped away out of the cracks of his mind. Right now he needed to focus. For all his pomp and fanciful thoughts, Eidolon had yet to prove himself any sort of warrior. Now he planned to do so, "Let's go."
tags, etc
Summary: Eidolon got existential/ lost in his head and is waiting for Reichenbach to appear and strike.
you must like me for me
yeah, i want you
we can’t make any promises now
can we babe —
Stardust streaks across the sky in trails of silver and gold, and she swims and swims and swims in those skies. Her wings beat madly, furiously through the thick of woodsmoke and embers of Aether’s dragon fire. She climbs the reach of the mountain’s hands, rising and falling until the sea below her calls to her aching heart. The stormsinger is nearly gone.. nearly out of precious, precious time.
And oh, does she wish for a moment for time to still. By some unspoken bond, she is drawn here with all of her wishes and hopes and duties tied around her rib cage like silken ribbons. But they are not as strong as the draw that binds her to him by something eternal, something more. Be it Calligo’s divine hands and comets that shower the heavens and show her the way, or her own heart and soul that bleeds twilight lavender and silver shot through an ebony mane.. Aislinn spirals. Her wings tuck, diving through the star-strewn air until her hooves dance across the sea. The waves kiss her with their cool salt spray, and then her legs plunge beneath the surface of the dark waters. She prances through the shallow cove towards the shore, blue eyes wide and searching.
Always. The sea has yet again called to her once more. And again, she is searching. Forever searching for him. For her prince. Her other half. Asterion.
The sky at her back begins to fade as Calligo’s ethereal tears slow. The dark of night still reigns, but the horizon leaches the softest whisper of lavender upon the sea’s far reach. Smoke rises and burns in the mountains to her right where the Pass has been closed; the Raven Gates shut. Her kingdom drawn. She knows that her time is short. She knows and she knows and she knows.
Aislinn braves the warm waters that lap at her midnight sides, stopping short of the sloping sands as her gaze shakes on the figure in the dark.
Somehow, someway, she finds him. Just like he had found her not so long ago.
"Asterion. I —" her voice breaks. She swallows, her gaze pleading. Begging for understanding. And far away, she still hears the wild crackle of fires burning the only passage to her home.
"We don’t have much time. I don’t have much time."
@asterion ♡ -flailing and screaming and crying- this is set right after the events of this thread but before the fires die out so she can say goodbye ;_;
"Aislinn speech."
thy kingdom come, thy will be done
on earth as it is in heaven —
The night sky does not mourn, but bleeds in burning embers that are its stars. Silver tears drip and blink across the sky in a brilliant show of anger amidst the smoke that rises from the mountains far. The beauty of the Night Goddess’ skies is a perfect contradiction to the battlefield that has overtaken their borders, leaching across the courts like an ebony stain. Now, the regime is angry. She is angry. Together, and only together, did they swallow the hard truth of what was to come. And it would be said that on this night, this night everlasting, that Calligo herself struck down with her meteors as her children walled themselves within her kingdom. They will come to know this night as the Seclusion. For too long has the Night — her Night — ran rampant; for too long have the Solar Courts maimed and warred and bled the star’s sons and daughters without consequence.
But for no longer.
Far, far away, she can swear that the smoke of dragon’s fire still curls in her lungs. She can almost hear the roars of an ancient beast resounding across the towers of stone that was their mountain borders.
And now, she stands as the Messenger.
”Denocte!” her voices booms like rolling thunder, reverberating against the stone walls. The growing wind tangles her hair across her face, a halo of wicked silver that only essenuates the glow of her eyes. Let them see her. Let them see their King and Regent and Emissary on this night. Let them. For together she will stand by their sides, for her people and for her goddess. She had sworn an oath the night she had ascended after all.
And like hell would she damn herself to break it now.
A wicked, lovely thing she is. The stormsinger stands upon the raised dais, orbs of blue piercing every soul that’s gaze lands on her midnight skin. She reaches to capture their stares, igniting their colors with the galaxies of Calligo’s own, as she can only hope to unite them with their decree. Aislinn does not falter before her people. Her storm-wrought soul only searches for Peace — desperately clinging to the Eternal Calm that is of legend alone. And when she looks to their faces as they stare up at her.. she sees blood stained snow. Rips through the Void of this world and the next. Sun drops bleeding across Solterran sands in attacks of fire and ash and dust.
How much more could Denocte take until they must atone?
She need only hum to summon a crack of thunder to silence their whispers, but yet she does not.
”The Raven Gates at the Arma Pass have been closed.” She sweeps the crowds that gather, marking each face both foreign and familiar. The shadows that grow on this long night cradle her as she continues to speak: ”This is an order of protection. Our solitude is one of Peace. Movement outside of our walls is hereby forbidden to steady the sea of chaos that has begun to rift across the kingdoms.” As if her goddess’ own star-strewn hands held her, each breath steadies the ache that claws in her chest. She is not innocent in this matter; her own undoing only added gasoline to the flames of their disaster. But Aislinn would not stand without a mirror showing her demon’s ugly face.
She would be transparent. They had every right to know why the gates of feather, obsidian, and gold have been shut. After only a year of their opening once more.
The Regent sucks in a breath of humid air, heady with woodsmoke and heavy with the invisible chains of her words. ”We have come to an agreement that it is the best for our Court to return to isolation. The discord of our actions, and of the actions of others, has caused the fragile calm between our kingdoms to shake.” Her chin raises, as she blinks to both Reichenbach and Isorath; their presence a constant solace at her side. ”I am no stranger to these actions.”
The hush of defiance of some begins to rise amongst the crowds that grow to hear their stormsinger speak. But she does not relent as she points heavensward to the Calligo’s brilliance of stars — silver streaking across the sky in shivers of light. ”We will stand as steady as the stars,” she promises, ”as we always have. Our Goddess has never wavered from us, and like Her, we will do what is best for our people.”
Her wings stretch beneath the sky, imagining the mountain pass alight with blazing red. One last decree to pass; a promise, a warning, not nearly close to a threat. Not against her own people. Not against her Court, her kingdom, her home.
They only wanted to protect them. That was all.
Aislinn’s voice softens, but her eyes do not. ”For those who are blessed with flight, you have until the last ember dies to depart our kingdom, or make your temporary goodbyes. For all others, you have moments once the fires of the Pass die out. I can only imagine Aether will not secure safe passage for long.”
May the stars be with us all.
TO ALL NIGHT COURT MEMBERS!
☽☉☾
On the night of the mountain’s fires and Calligo’s meteor shower, the Regime calls to all of Denocte.
The Raven Gates have been closed. (You can read it in this thread.) Entrance and exit from Denocte is hereby forbidden. For the safety of Calligo’s sons and daughters, the Night Court has reverted back to an isolationist state until further notice.
This meeting is not mandatory. Denoctians currently outside the kingdom’s walls will be able to return to Night through the Raven Gates, but once they do, your character will not be permitted to leave. The same goes to other courtiers who are not native to Denocte. Once your character is in Denocte, they must stay. If your character has wings, an air patrol will be initiated to monitor the skies. The air patrol will rise with the sun’s first rays. If your character is blessed with wings.. you have until then to depart or say your temporary goodbyes. All other characters have the chance to leave, but not for long!
Your character is open to ask and inquire as many questions to the Regime during this thread.
This is an order of protection by decree of the Night Court Regime.
It had seemed to have taken forever to get the festival organized properly—Ipomoea had never realized how many small, seemingly insignificant details really could make or break a party
This was his first real act as a newly-named Regent. The title still sent a shiver coursing down his spine, a mixture of excitement and apprehension that he had yet to understand. It had all happened so quickly—not that he minded a fast-paced lifestyle, but this time he was left feeling a touch out of breath, a little out of step with the rest of the world, as if two beats behind while everybody else danced on around him. This game he played was so unfamiliar to him: he found himself constantly looking to Somnus while trying to model himself after the dunalino, to mimic his moves even as they were being made.
But try as he might, he could never anticipate the next play; he was out of sync, thrown off kilter by the sudden change of course. ’Who knew politics could turn into such a balancing act…’
But here he was back in his element. The flowers spun like quicksilver in his grasp, twirling themselves together at the barest of thoughts, interlocking their stems and petals into circlets of beauty and color.
“There you go!” With a flourish, he drops the finished flower crowns onto the young filly’s head, the dandelions and chamomile flowers bright against her iron-colored skin. “Enjoy the festival!”
She rushes off with bright eyes, her laughter blending into the noise of the crowds. A wistful smile crosses Ipomoea’s lips, if only briefly—she reminded Po of himself as a boy, carefree and reckless, always rushing off to the next best thing.
So naive and self-assured. In love with the world and everything it had to offer, flowers strewn in his hair without caring how it might look to anyone else, oblivious to the things people might say behind his back.
He shook off the thoughts with a flick of his tail, focusing his attention on the next person to step up to his little booth. “Good morning! Care for a crown of your own?” He gestured happily at the impressive display of flowers assorted on the table, a multitude of colors and species just waiting to be braided together into something magnificent.
“Go on—pick any you’d like!”
Want Po to braid you a flower crown?! Stop right here, tell him which flowers you'd like, and he'll get it done in a jiffy!! No posting order here either, just know if you post he'll get back to you!
(Also feel free to write as if Po made you a flower crown without actually posting here, I'm sure he'll have made tons!)
(If you'd like a more private interaction between Po and your character, just hit me up by pm or on discord and we'll work something out!)
It was now or never. The time to open the ceremony, to kick the festivities off with his own artistic presentation was nigh. He figured it best to get both over at once; after all, who knew when the next time he’d make it to the stage would be?
But Ipomoea did not feel ready at all—butterflies danced in his stomach, his heart thumping painfully hard in his chest. He hadn’t rehearsed his set yet, nor written a speech of his own despite having helped many others finalize their's. He’d been so focused on everyone but himself, and on seeing the festival come to fruition, that he had neglected his presentation in the process. It all had taken far more energy than he'd anticipated... he could only hope now that it was enough.
The stage seemed far higher now than when it had earlier this morning, but he forced himself to climb the steps as if they were nothing, head held high in the morning light. He straightened the crown of flowers woven and placed delicately upon his poll, stalling for time.
“Hello everybody,” he calls out in a voice that was more song than anything else, hiding his fears with a smile. “Welcome to our festival of music and the arts! I hope you find yourself right at home here, whether you hail from the Dawn Court or elsewhere.”
He clears his throat, looking out among the sea of faces. His heart skips a beat, a thousand words racing through his mind as he struggles to pull his thoughts into order, to remember all of the things he wishes to say. “To get us started, I would like…”
…And then he backs out at the last second. His voice stutters and cracks; he hopes no one notices. Just like that, what little courage he thought he’d had dissipates into the wind.
“I’d like to invite the first band up—after their set the stage will be open to anyone and everyone for a brief while! There are programs at each of the booths, but really any time the bands stop playing, there will be a time for presentations and acts. Please don’t hesitate to come on up and show us your artistic talents! Just remember to kindly give everyone the same respect as you yourself would like shown. It’s a big thing to get up here to show off your art and abilities, but just know we’re all in this with each other. I look forward to meeting all of you, and witness all you’ve decided to share with us today.”
And with one last smile, he ducks away from the stage, out of the spotlight and into the crowds.
There would be time for his own presentation later, he hoped.
Welcome to the music and arts festival! In this thread, you can write out your characters IC presentation of their art or abilities—remember, this can be of any medium! Songs, paintings, magic tricks, dances, you name it! Please keep posting to a minimum, this thread should only be for your characters presentations—you can post small reactions, but the bulk of interactions should be in private threads to keep this one tidy! Thank you, and have fun!
Posted by: Lavinia - 04-30-2018, 12:33 AM - Forum: Archives
- No Replies
COME DOWN TO THE BLACK SEA SWIMMING WITH ME.
GO DOWN WITH ME, FALL WITH ME.
LET'S MAKE IT WORTH IT.
There were a million stars reflected on the glassy surface of the small stream before her. The illusion was incomparable. It was as if the red and gold mare had been thrust up into the galaxy and was floating amongst the stars, despite standing perfectly still at the edge of the stream watching in dark silence. From where she stood she could barely hear the lapping of the water at the shore. The stillness of the air kept the trees and the grasses around her from rustling or making a sound. With all the critters around her sleeping now that the moon was full and high in the sky, Lavinia had truly been plunged into a dead silent night.
She watches the reflections of the stars on the surface of the water, not bothering to trace her gaze towards where her reflection stood. The woman was too dark to be seen, save for the pale yellow eyes staring out from the dark canvas.
One would think that she was reflecting upon her past, or muddling through intricate thoughts, when instead, with a casual backwards flick of a ear, she was straining to hear a hint of any sound amongst the silence. There was no way that she was alone in such a vast land, as she had seen the others milling about during the day- perhaps there were few creatures that wandered during the night like herself. She had long ago learnt to embrace the cover of shadows, knowing that the darkness was the one thing (aside from her crow family) that embraced her without prejudice.
As she strained to listen for anything at all, there was a small snap and a gentle rustling, yet the wind did not pick up.
@Thorvald I'm placing this as just before the gates are closed by ease of meeting. xD speech color!
COME DOWN TO THE BLACK SEA SWIMMING WITH ME.
GO DOWN WITH ME, FALL WITH ME.
LET'S MAKE IT WORTH IT.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, the word ran over and over in her head to the beat of her hooves hitting the ground.
Just a few hours ago she'd run from a group of guards, guarding the gates to Denocte. Was she supposed to have left? No, but did she anyway? Yes. She'd wanted time away, craved it, and now look where it got her. Stumbling through the forest sick with fever and delirium, barely keeping down what she didn't toss up a few minutes later. In her delirious state, Lav had left the gates without telling anyone though she was certain the guards had already informed Reichenbach or Isorath.
Stupid stupid stupid, She continued her mantra of self-loathing, as it was the only thing keeping her going. She was lost within her own mind, using every last drop of energy left to her to keep herself going as she wandered through what normally would have been a very familiar sight to her. Amare Creek was a place she used to come to when she simply wanted to be away from prying eyes back at home, but now she was too unfocused to even notice she had come here. Shivering weakness from the loss of bodily energy from her run made her steps uneven, and kept her from realizing she was walking into a body of water until the stuff splashed up her legs and the slick moss made her slip and fall.
Her determination failed her then as she blinked through the haze at the clear water she'd fallen into. The cold water ebbed small waves against her, soaking her coat clear, a calm and gentle touch to take away the constant fire of her ruined skin. A dull throb pounded away at her head, and she thought vaguely that a weaker soul might lose themselves to pity and tears at being hurt and alone.
I've been alone before, She thought, lowering her head and gazing at her own reflection in the creek. I've dealt with worse.
@Raam have a slightly feverish Lavinia! speech color!
Character #1: @Asterion Bonded: NA Magic: NA Armor: NA Weapons: NA
Character #2: @Raymond Bonded: NA Magic: NA Armor: NA Weapons: NA
Asterion
in sunshine and in shadow*
They are always strange, he thinks, the circumstances that see him at the Steppe.
First, that scuffle with Florentine, his sister and his queen. Oh, things had been easier then; they had still been children. Even the fight was a game, and he remembers the horror he felt when his hoof connected with the skin of her nose. Only a little blood, and laughter after, and the sun setting on them as they walked home together.
Now he feels old – old, but not grown. He feels no wiser than he had been then, but the ground had shifted beneath him, and he had to find his feet.
And then Calliope had returned. She was the same as he remembered, lion-hearted with her wicked blade, the last of her kind. Asterion has no name for the way his heart constricts when he looks at her, the way she makes him want to be a kind of more that always eludes him. With her had been Raymond, no less a weapon, no less a teacher.
It is Raymond he waits for now, muscles tense in the long light of a summer afternoon. Somewhere there is a bird trilling, and Asterion flicks his tail at a fly that dogs his flank. When he sees a flash of red he stills, and the bay stallion watches, neck slightly arched, as his opponent approaches. Most closely of all he watches the slow sway of the chestnut’s bladed tail, but when they are within speaking distance his dark gaze shifts to the stallion’s face.
He says nothing, but he smiles tightly, and then he nods.
The Night is alive with the song of the Northern Wind and the hum of Guard song, the heavy thud of soldiers hooves again stone nad wood. Gruff and raspy, the lilt of the port dialect and a flagon of ale make it rich and warm. Even the breeze is warm, carried by summer winds and solterran sand, undefeated by the cold of the mountains. Fires flicker and crackle, spout embers as bodies huddle close by. Dotted along the horizon like the stars in the sky.
Cradled within the Mountains embrace, the Raven's stand eternal. Ancient and eternal, their foundations laid in the era of the first King of Stars and Moondust, finished by the third who wore the shroud of the King of Stars and Shadows. They had barred entry into Dencote for an era, and it was by good grace and hope that they had relinquished that eternal vigil, their wings folded closed to reveal Calligo's kingdom to the hopeful and adventurous.
Those smouldering emerald eyes of there's peered out now as an omnious symbol to those who passed beneath their shadow, that Calligo watched them. That her children watched from water and shadow, from the stars and the wall. If the stories were to be believed, that in times of great upheaval, Calligo would wail her terrible song and the Raven's would stir. Brought to life with a singular purpose to protect. protect. protect.
If the stories were to be believed.
But, they cannot bring the Raven's to life. As much as they wished.
Then again, he can do so much more. He can make a promise that he had every intention to keep.
The song is broken with a dragon's cry, thunderous, bitter and angry. Life evaporated immediately, this song that had sang so sweetly. Like a held breath, fearful and curious.
Again, a roar. A terrible clap of thunder upon the wind. Again. Again. Again.
The air is alive with the sound of dragon song. And it is not kind. It is not patient and purred. Like the rumbled breath Aether had rasped before.
It is angry.
It is bitter.
And so is he.
Isorath comes like a banshee in the night, garbed and braided. He dons the colors of Night and the war braids of his homeland. Twisting forever, eating themselves upon his neck like a hundred different serpents cloying for blood and braided with gold coins. He alighted upon the ramparts. Beneath the shadow of the Raven's gaze and he embraces it as he did his lover of Shadows.
"Close the gates." Is his demand, and his wings clap upon the wind in time with Aether's own as the Dragon descends. A soldier is pinned beneath his lilac gazes as porcelain hooves alight upon wood and stone.
'Close the Gates?' A guard sputtered, half in disbelief as the rest hesitated.
"Close the Gates." Isorath repeated, and that is when the illusion broke. Pale lips pull back to reveal the sharp canines within as his wings flared. He loomed over them all, a pale spectre in the moonlight as finally the call is made.
'Why? Why now? What has happened?'
The night is alive again, but it is not the sound of sweet summer and guard song. It is filled with fear as Isorath felt the gates grind beneath his hooves and the wings of the great ravens begin to grind closed. They are returned to their glorious purpose, they are called again to guard Calligo's children against the unworthy and undeserving. Outsiders that would do them harm. There would be no more joy to be found Lilac eyes stare out at the pass, unmoving, focused and alive. There is bitterness there, a serpents grin. The taste of blood upon the tongue.
He doesn't bother to hide the grin when Aether descended, beautifully, terrifyingly upon the pass like a reaper upon the soul. Guards wailed and others gasped as they bore witness to the beast. He circled, once and then twice. Again and again, and Isorath does not hide the manic glint when those jaws open, and the familiar rumble of fire echoed out into the night.
The Arma mountains is often beautiful, yes, with it's fires winking in the night. Isorath likened them to stars, watched them often with soft eyes, from the window of his King's bedchamber, his heart filled with a lover's haze. They brought him peace in those times, filled his mind with a hundred different stories of what secrets it held.
But this night, it is an inferno. A sacrifice. A warning.
In this night the Arma Mountains bore witness to it's greatest bonfire yet. Itself. Oh, and the Night screamed, as Dragonfire bit into her shadowy embrace, made her bend and break. It scoured the life from the trees, from the animals which called the pass home, they all went up in one last symphony of fright, a swan song pulled painfully from it's open chest.
The sweet smell of burning cedar wood, perfume and the lingering taste of ale is evaporated with the smell of burning flesh and rot. Aether's breath forces the life out of all those it embraced in a lover's chokehold, joyously.
and the night sang onward, but the cadence is all wrong.
THE RAVEN'S GATE IS NOW CLOSED. BARRING ENTRANCE AND EXIT FROM THE NIGHT COURT.
DRAGON FIRE RAGES IN PASS ALL NIGHT, ONLY TO DISSAPATE AT MORNING BREAK. WHAT IS LEFT IS A HUSK OF WHAT LITTLE LIFE CLUNG TO THE SAFETY OF THE PASS, THE ASH HANGS HEAVY IN THE AIR MAKING IT DIFFICULT TO BREATHE. THE GUARDS STATIONED AT THE GATES WILL NOT TALK, AND QUIETLY GO ABOUT THEIR BUSINESS WITH A DETERMINATION FUELLED BY FEAR AND AWE.
What is happening? Has the Night Court finally returned to it's isolationalist state?
A gentle rush of wind fills the air as an owl descends through the trees, sending a shower of leaves down to the ground below. He alights on a low-lying branch for rest, ruffling his beak through his feathers in content.
Toulouse watches the large avian with interest from his place in the shadows. It had been quite some time since he had seen a messenger owl—but even here in this new world, the bird seemed the same as all the others before. This one was slim and compact, leaner and made for flying long distances.
How far has this one flown? The curiosity bubbled up unbidden from within him, but he made no effort to push it away. More importantly… why is it here?
He could make out part of a seal stamped onto the letter, bright and important-looking. His heart beat a little faster inside of his chest—perhaps it was a matter of royalty, of wealthy lords and ladies? Or politics, perhaps, a decree from a distant king? Surely it was something of importance.
His curiosity was getting the better of him again.
He moved out of the shadows slowly, hovering near the shade of the trees. The owl’s head snapped to attention at the sudden movement, his yellow eyes meeting the seafoam green of Toulouse’s gaze. But there was something soft within the owl, something naive and trusting, and it showed in those golden depths.
That’s what a lifetime of comfort and captivity will do to you.
Bird and horse watched each other as the palomino drew slowly closer, every step slow and deliberate, speed and time measured with the ultimate carefulness to avoid scaring the creature into taking flight. The owl shifted, and Toulouse paused. The branch the owl sat on was low, so low that Toulouse could easily see eye-to-eye with him. As the owl continued his methodical preening, the ivory splashed gelding continued his approach, drawing nearer and nearer before finally stopping beside the tree.
His horns brushed the branches overhead, knocking free a handful of leaves that fluttered gently past his nose. He hardly glanced their way, paying no attention to their descent—his attention was for the messenger owl alone.
And the message tied to his foot.
”What have you got there, friend?” he crooned, craning his head forward. A glimmer of suspicion shone in the owl’s eyes, the feathery bird leaning away from Toulouse’s unwanted touch. A frown threatened, tugging at the corners of his pale lips; he was quick to hide it in a smile.
”Come on now,” he cajoled, persistent in his reach. ”You’ve traveled a long way. Just let me help you—I’m not going to hurt you.”
Perhaps another promise he couldn’t keep—maybe he had no intention of staying true to his word at all. But his voice was honey sweet, a gentle whisper in the owl’s ear. ”And I’ll be careful with it.” At least some part of it was honest, an inkling of truth to give conviction to his deceiving plea. He reached further still, nearly touching the owl’s soft white back now. His chest hardly moved, hardly daring to breathe in his concentration.
”…I’ll make sure it gets to the right hands.”
The owl’s head tilted towards Toulouse. He had him.
His telekinetic grasp remained slow and controlled as it pulled on the bow, the elegant carmine ribbon falling away and the rolled up letter falling into his waiting grasp. He let out his breath in an audible sigh as it did, relaxing visibly. The owl had turned now to watch him with an expectant look in his eyes.
”Thank you?” Seeming satisfied, the bird went back to its preening as though nothing important had happened.
With a now-shaking grip, Toulouse had just broken the seal and was about to hold the letter up to the light for reading—
—When a twig snapping behind him made him freeze.
He whirled around to face the intruder, blonde hair flying in the dappled forest light like a halo around his striking face. The letter he shoved inside of the inner pocket of his scarves—perhaps just a second too late to keep its existence hidden.
