There had been a time that he’d been ruled by words and their many-sided meanings. He had been groomed to be a king, raised up and trained to say the right things at the right setting. At the time, it had made him feel powerful: he knew the sway words held, the long-lasting effects a single interaction could yield. He’d delighted in the mind games, always determined to come out on top in a verbal spar.

In retrospect, he had been a robot. A soldier made by others, who knew nothing outside of what he had been fed. It made for a strange thing, to switch from being a man or words to a man of doing; a yet incomplete transformation, as many would argue. And perhaps they were right; for here Aion was, returning once again to that old piece of himself. Only now, he wouldn’t use his words to harm, nor to delight in the pain he so craftily wrought. No; tonight he would use words for a far different purpose.

The stars glittered down upon him as he stood at the end of the boardwalk, teasing him with their distance and their beauty, the temptation they so blatantly held. The constellations whispered to him, telling their stories of heroes and warriors and scholars alike. Ancient legends who had achieved some great deed that made their name worthy of being eternally written in the skies. He’d once wished to be amongst their number; looking upon them now, remembering the stories he memorized in his youth, he couldn’t help but think to himself: ’Perhaps it wouldn’t be so impossible still…’ He longed to reach them, to drown in them; maybe then, surrounded by such bright celestial bodies, his pain would disappear and leave him at peace. It was a silly notion, an impossible one—and still he fantasized about it, for his dreams lately were more comforting than his reality. 

Out of the patterns, one in particular stuck out to him. It burned both in his memory and in his vision, branded in the sky and upon his lover’s shoulder, like twins. If only following the one he saw now would lead him to the other! It seemed no matter how near nor far, high nor low, all the places his wandering brought him, all were in vain. He felt foolish and frustrated, and above all else lonely. He never had been the best at making friends, and still he had let his closest friend, his greatest love, vanish as though into thin air. 

Aion frowned then, and turned away from the stars. 

The note he had written was still clutched tightly within the hold of his telekinesis, weak though it was. Slowly, carefully, he allowed it to unfold inch by inch until he could once again view it in its entirety. For what seemed like the millionth time, he studied it; he needed it to be absolutely clear before stringing it into the trees.

Hesitant but satisfied, Aion placed his note inside of the delicate glass baubles that had been provided, slipping a few rose petals he had gathered alongside the parchment. He curved his note so that it all of his words would be viewable if one were to simply hold and turn the ornament. Of course, he hoped only one person would go so far; the person whose very name was written in as fancy a writing he could muster (though art was truthfully never his strong suit): Eros. He weaved a bit of turquoise ribbon through the ornament’s delicate claspe, tying both ends together into a knot. Every move was deliberate as he picked out a branch to hang his bauble on, bouncing it once, then twice to ensure it would stay in place. And with one final glance, searing the words he’d written into his mind, he left the way he’d come, hooves clacking against the wooden boardwalk. 


My Frøya,

I miss you more every day.
I look for you in every face I see.
Every star and every flower reminds me of you, 
but I have never found one as fair
Only the poppies in Delumine have come half as close.
I wait for you there.

I love you always,
—din kjære

ooc;; @eros
notes;; mostly a lot of rambles

text. talk.

KASIL

Where autumn’s wind had been a kiss, the winter chill that enveloped the lands was a bite. With each breath, he felt the sharp nips of icy teeth tear into his very soul and threatening to consume him because she was hungry for his warmth. Winter had stalked the lands like a wolf, her hunting song echoing in the dark just beyond their senses until the moment to strike became abundantly clear. Now it was far too late to escape her jaws. Frost clung to his lashes and the very tips of his golden-brown feathers, unable to be banished by the fading rays of sunlight that had begun to abandon the craggly rocks of the cliffs. The king of scrolls turned his eye towards the setting sun, as Terrastella welcomed home her namesake -- the vibrant hues of honey-mead, mulberry and sanguine basking over the cliffs and straight on to the stark column that marked the very center of the court. His breath was a curl of smoke from his nares, wafting away until it disappeared as silently as it had left him.

With a meticulousness, the Dawn King began to draw the stretched expanse of his wings back against his body as he looked away from the fading light. It had been so long since he had been here last, not a day since he had become a sovereign. It filled with with an unspeakable sadness to have been away so long, yet there was joy in finding that he had returned at all and that he had managed to make it just before the sun was passed into Caligo’s embrace for the evening. He took slow, mincing steps across the uneven surface of the cliffs -- the wind’s song whistling in his ear and drowning the roar of the crashing waves below. His mind turned idly to the cliffs, wondering just how long the would continue to stand against such an unrelenting foe like the sea. Far longer than he would, he supposed.

A rueful smile twisted his lips just as a large droplet of snow hurried across his path. He raised his amber gaze, the golden diadem catching the final glint of the sun’s rays. Snow? He pondered, wondering if it was a good or bad omen to have such fat flakes falling from the sky this early into the winter season. And on his day of birth, no less. The snow began to drop rapidly around him, dusting his thick mahogany coat with a blanket of ivory. The first few had melted against his skin, drawn in by the internal warmth of his body -- but it was falling so swiftly now that they began to build, conquering him. He chuckled, the sound low and melodious.

By the time that he arrived at Terrastella’s heart, he was completely covered in a thick blanket of the stuff. The citadel was bustling, no doubt in full swing for the festival. He had missed the autumnal festival of Dawn’s Court because of his pilgrimage to altars of the gods, so he was curious to see just how everyone was preparing. He shook the snow from his form just before the gates, his feet leaving the hard crunch of the snowy outside world and into the clear paths of the court. His head tilted in curiosity once he saw all of the finely crafted pottery, artists taking posts to paint various designs on the bodies of others. How curious, he thought, his scholarly instincts clicking in as he took steps closer still to investigate.