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+---- Thread: [P] we can weep and call it singing; (/showthread.php?tid=1758)
we can weep and call it singing; - Asterion - 03-03-2018
Asterion He had left at once, still blinking sleep out of his eyes, still hoping this was some nightmare, some mistake. The sound of the bells had woken him from uneasy slumber, limbs tangled on pale cushions he would never grow accustomed to. At first what had swum to his hazy pre-dawn mind was Reichenbach and his ever-ringing coins, but it was not Reichenbach. After reading the letter (and oh gods, what if he had never learned to read? If he had not so recently asked Isorath to teach him?) everything bled out of his mind but fear and worry and the need to go. Never before had he wished for wings; with each step against the driving, freezing rain he urged his heart, his legs, his lungs on. And at last he had made it. He is drenched and shivering and weary to the marrow of his bones; dawn is silver behind him, a cold opening eye. Asterion has never been to the night court capital; as he staggers into the courtyard he thinks, briefly as a beat of butterfly wings, of what Reichenbach and his people had done. Of the betrayal that had happened the night of the festival. What if it’s a trap? It’s a hateful thought, born surely of his exhaustion and the fear that gnaws at him, that has its teeth and claws sunk into every inch of him. He pushes it away as he takes the last ringing steps through the keep’s yawning door. “Where is she?” he cries to the first person he sees, a guard who’d snapped to attention from slumber when he clattered in. For a moment the guard only stares at the bedraggled bay stallion, wild-eyed and soaked as though he had crawled out of a hurricane. Asterion clicks his teeth, impatient with worry, and repeats himself. “Where is Aislinn?” Finally the guard responds, accompanying him down first one twisting hallway and then another until they reached the infirmary; the guard caught his eye, swallowed, and gestured him inside. Never has Asterion looked so wild or felt so helpless as when he steps into that room. At once he detects the metallic scent of blood, bitter-sharp even over the smell of lime and vinegar used to clean the room. His heart is a leaping, running thing in his chest, more fleet-footed than it had been even on his panicked flight here. He stops only long enough for his gaze to fall upon her, half-hidden by a curtain on the far side of the room. Something looks terribly wrong with the shadow of her wing that plays on the fabric in the firelight; his mind pushes this away. The last few steps seem longer than the whole of the rest of his journey; he is hungry to see her face, starving to hear her voice. And then he does. He is not even conscious of whether they are alone or not in the room; he is aware only of how large her eyes are, how her light places are darkened with red. “Aislinn,” he breathes, half-relieved to see that she is still standing, and then his gaze slips to her ruined wing and his breath hitches. Water puddles beneath him, a steady drip; his thoughts are in a freefall. What happened? he wants to cry; wants to demand Who did this? But he closes his teeth on them both. Instead he reaches for her cheek, tender, even as a tempest rages within him. “Tell me how you are.” Tell me you’re all right. @Aislinn D: |
RE: we can weep and call it singing; - Aislinn - 03-10-2018
she was half human..
half universe.
She had never known a night this long. Not once. A part of her almost wished that the morning would come; that she would wake up from the nightmare of glistening crimson on new snow. That maybe, she was not the storm that had rolled into the boundaries of the Steppe. That maybe, she did not walk into her battlefield with hurricanes churning in her eyes and her lips craving the taste of Solterran blood. That maybe.. maybe this wasn’t real.
Not once, had she ever desired such things.
But then again, not once had her freedom been torn — literally — from her. Ripped clean with bones and teeth and plucked feathers. In that moment.. she was grounded. Bound and chained to the earth. She did not even know if she’d ever taste the bliss of swimming in Calligo’s stars again. Stars above, she could barely recall how she managed to arrive back at court. In the castle’s walls. In the infirmary. All she could remember is his teeth. The white-hot sear of bones snapping and flesh shredding open. Her blood splashed against a backdrop of white. The fingers of unconsciousness grasping her, pulling her into their abyss, their shadows.. so so unlike the darkness she reveled in. Nothing like Night’s eternal embrace.
Now, her mind swims on the cusp of unknowing. Her blood is buzzing; from what, she doesn’t know. Warmth trickles down her throat, tingling down her spine and legs and.. and her wings. Her wing.. she does not have the strength to look upon the wreckage. What is left and what is not. Even on this night, she has not realized that Calligo’s stardust no longer clings to her skin. It is as though the magic in her has been drained away — drained with each drop of her blood that has been spilled. She is broken. Utterly and completely broken.
With tender hands, she desperately searches for the emotions that wash over her skin. Sweats beads upon the midnight of her coat, and yet she shivers; for even though she had laid in the snow, for a countless amount of time.. she had never been so cold. Crystals of ice are sharp in her blood, her bones. Yet someone dribbles fire down her throat, beaconing her to drink. To take the pain away. If only she could sleep.. to fall into a dreamless slumber. To wake up in a kingdom made of twilight and fireflies and stars.
She could barely remember her own name through it all.
Aislinn.
The dull color of her eyes flare, brilliantly and blue through the sconce light, before fading to lackluster once more. Her ears flicker forward, lazily but enough, at the sound of her name. Velveteen lips curl, soft but sweet. ”Asterion,” she rasps. Her first words in hours. They found him. She watches him through the haze, noting the familiarity of that shining star upon his forehead. That beacon from which she will always find through the darkness. And his eyes.. they swim in galaxies of so many things that she cannot find names for. Too quickly, too soon, too fleeting. Her heart constricts around the rose vines that entwine it. For she would give anything to see those eyes sparkle with his smile again.. to wipe clean this nightmare; to never see the pain in them again.
Tell me how you are.
His kiss upon her cheek burns and burns, imprinting into tingles that drum like fingers on her skin. Dark lashes fall, her gaze drowning into blackness. Slumber pulls at her in tendrils, tempting her. Lulling her in silent lullabies. But she cannot, not yet. She only leans forward, slightly, not meaning to — but enough to stumble. Barely, she catches herself, wincing, heat shocking through her ruined wing. All she wanted was to be close to him. To hear his voice. He was here. With her. Asterion was here. That was all that mattered.
Aislinn couldn’t look at him; not with tears pin pricking the back of her eyes. ”I.. I don’t know. I don’t know how I am,” she cries, voice cracking.
Someone runs up to her, whispering, murmuring. Her crown tilts back as they bring a bottle to her lips; liquid fire dribbling down her throat. The blood in her veins buzzes, broiling, numb. She stands as still as she is able, her wings relaxed. Her body leaning sideways, tilted on a lazy hoof. Her muzzle reaches forward blindly, gently, searching for him. She grazes his cheek — or so she thinks with her eyes still shut — placing a kiss there. ”You came.. you came to see me.” A silver star falls from beneath a closed eye lid. A single tear that trails down the night sky of her skin.
One tear that held the weight of a thousand untold sobs as her walls crumble ever still.
@asterion ♡ -sobbing through boxes of tissues-
pretty much a doped up, exhausted Ash D: pulled from post-surgery experience for this one if it reads a little weird.
Not once, had she ever desired such things.
But then again, not once had her freedom been torn — literally — from her. Ripped clean with bones and teeth and plucked feathers. In that moment.. she was grounded. Bound and chained to the earth. She did not even know if she’d ever taste the bliss of swimming in Calligo’s stars again. Stars above, she could barely recall how she managed to arrive back at court. In the castle’s walls. In the infirmary. All she could remember is his teeth. The white-hot sear of bones snapping and flesh shredding open. Her blood splashed against a backdrop of white. The fingers of unconsciousness grasping her, pulling her into their abyss, their shadows.. so so unlike the darkness she reveled in. Nothing like Night’s eternal embrace.
Now, her mind swims on the cusp of unknowing. Her blood is buzzing; from what, she doesn’t know. Warmth trickles down her throat, tingling down her spine and legs and.. and her wings. Her wing.. she does not have the strength to look upon the wreckage. What is left and what is not. Even on this night, she has not realized that Calligo’s stardust no longer clings to her skin. It is as though the magic in her has been drained away — drained with each drop of her blood that has been spilled. She is broken. Utterly and completely broken.
With tender hands, she desperately searches for the emotions that wash over her skin. Sweats beads upon the midnight of her coat, and yet she shivers; for even though she had laid in the snow, for a countless amount of time.. she had never been so cold. Crystals of ice are sharp in her blood, her bones. Yet someone dribbles fire down her throat, beaconing her to drink. To take the pain away. If only she could sleep.. to fall into a dreamless slumber. To wake up in a kingdom made of twilight and fireflies and stars.
She could barely remember her own name through it all.
Aislinn.
The dull color of her eyes flare, brilliantly and blue through the sconce light, before fading to lackluster once more. Her ears flicker forward, lazily but enough, at the sound of her name. Velveteen lips curl, soft but sweet. ”Asterion,” she rasps. Her first words in hours. They found him. She watches him through the haze, noting the familiarity of that shining star upon his forehead. That beacon from which she will always find through the darkness. And his eyes.. they swim in galaxies of so many things that she cannot find names for. Too quickly, too soon, too fleeting. Her heart constricts around the rose vines that entwine it. For she would give anything to see those eyes sparkle with his smile again.. to wipe clean this nightmare; to never see the pain in them again.
Tell me how you are.
His kiss upon her cheek burns and burns, imprinting into tingles that drum like fingers on her skin. Dark lashes fall, her gaze drowning into blackness. Slumber pulls at her in tendrils, tempting her. Lulling her in silent lullabies. But she cannot, not yet. She only leans forward, slightly, not meaning to — but enough to stumble. Barely, she catches herself, wincing, heat shocking through her ruined wing. All she wanted was to be close to him. To hear his voice. He was here. With her. Asterion was here. That was all that mattered.
Aislinn couldn’t look at him; not with tears pin pricking the back of her eyes. ”I.. I don’t know. I don’t know how I am,” she cries, voice cracking.
Someone runs up to her, whispering, murmuring. Her crown tilts back as they bring a bottle to her lips; liquid fire dribbling down her throat. The blood in her veins buzzes, broiling, numb. She stands as still as she is able, her wings relaxed. Her body leaning sideways, tilted on a lazy hoof. Her muzzle reaches forward blindly, gently, searching for him. She grazes his cheek — or so she thinks with her eyes still shut — placing a kiss there. ”You came.. you came to see me.” A silver star falls from beneath a closed eye lid. A single tear that trails down the night sky of her skin.
One tear that held the weight of a thousand untold sobs as her walls crumble ever still.
@asterion ♡ -sobbing through boxes of tissues-
pretty much a doped up, exhausted Ash D: pulled from post-surgery experience for this one if it reads a little weird.
RE: we can weep and call it singing; - Asterion - 03-17-2018
Asterion He had not known just how tightly caught his heart was until she spoke his name. Oh, worry is still a snare that makes each muscle taut and each breath shallow and buzzes in his head like wasps – but the worst of the fear vanishes. He is not relieved, but the drowning-dread is gone. Then she stumbles, trying to reach him, and he wonders if he is wrong. The bay moves to help her, to offer the damp but steady plane of his shoulder, but something in her voice pins him. The fear in it is an arrow that pierces his heart and suddenly he is not standing in an infirmary surrounded by strange scents and strange sounds. He is in Ravos in a barren wasteland of rock and sand and it is his twin, that same fear-hurt in her voice, only she is telling him not to touch her. She is telling him she will kill him, if he does. That if he tries to help her (and oh how he wants to help her) she will hate him forever. Asterion has not seen Talia since. He does not know if they were truths or golden lies she spoke as the smoke rolled over them both, stinging his eyes and burning his tongue on ash, and what does it matter? For he has made the same mistake again, and he is frozen like a bird for fear Aislinn will tell him the same thing. Finally he finds his tongue, though even as he speaks he places the first brick of blame upon his heart. “You’re safe,” he tells her, trying to sound firm and assuring, “you’re home,” and then he is pushed aside by a healer who bids her drink. He catches the mare’s eye, inclines his head toward Aislinn, a silent question – but the healers shakes her head. No. Don’t touch. There is kindness in her eyes but there is sternness, too: they will not hesitate to remove him, he thinks. They will make him leave her, make him wait alone. But when she reaches for him he is helpless but to reach back, though a dark ear twists at the sharp-strange scent on her breath. Her muzzle on his skin steadies him like a hand and his heart fights to find its rhythm. “Of course I did,” he says, voice hoarse, hardly aware that he’s begun shivering in his soaked skin. All his attention is fixed on the tear rolling silver down her cheek. There is nothing he could have done but come to her, because - “I love you.” Now it is Asterion who closes his eyes as the words, steady and soft and matter-of-fact, fade away. Surely he is the greatest of fools (and he can see his twin, laughing at him even through her tears, careless cold gold). His love has never been enough to save anyone. @Aislinn his word of the day is 'melodrama' |
RE: we can weep and call it singing; - Aislinn - 03-27-2018
she was half human..
half universe.
She is swimming, drowning, gasping for relief from the weight of that one, single tear that trails down the dark of her face. Her eyes are shut shut shut — swallowing her world into a darkness that pulls, tugging at her in intimate, careful tendrils. How she desires to tumble into that sea of nothingness, and to emerge from this hell, this nightmare. She would rise, newly awakened, with her wing outstretched and healed. She would no longer be a mess of bandages and patches of blood; torn feathers and shredded skin hanging off of her beautiful appendage. She would blink awake, and the snow would have melted and the spring would welcome her. And Asterion, her love, her twilight prince eternal, would be at her side.
Everything would be right again.
But everything is not right. Not now.. maybe never again. And maybe, Aislinn tries, that will be okay. For this reality and kingdom of daydreams that they have built together — their shared faerie tale — is all she needs. And instinctively, magnetically, she is pulled, swaying because her skin craves his warmth. His loving touch. His imprinted kiss still burns upon the dark of her cheek. Asterion is here with her, and that alone bears down on her in a wash of relief that heals more than the salves on her wounds, and the drink poured down her throat.
You’re safe.
He’s right, she knows. She’s safe.. now. For the first time during the forever night, she sighs under the blanket of security that he has placed on her shoulders. On her heart. He alone has brought this to her, and Aislinn couldn’t be more wrought with false stability and anguish. Yet here he is — and what she does not realize, not yet, is how far he had come for her. In the dead of this long night, through sleet and ice and rain and fear like daggers piercing his own flesh.. Asterion had found her.
And then suddenly, her love for him is a light that washes over her in twilight gold and lavender shimmer. It is a healing salve brighter than Calligo’s moon and stars. It is Vespera’s defiance as the sun sets in the ever night. It is Orien’s strength of new dawn, and it is even Solis’ hellfire that scorches unsuspecting grounds. Her heart has swollen, and is near bursting with the sheer power of her gratitude — for it truly knows no bounds.
Her prince had come for her.
He had found her. In her darkest moments. When she needed him most.
Of course I did. I love you.
The liquid fire that has dribbled down her throat leaves her too tongue parched, but still she rasps, ”I love you,” stumbling and breaking over the words. Aislinn is cracking, another silver tear slipping through a thick of lashes. Her muzzle reaches towards him, willing to pull him closer. How much she needs to feel his warmth seep into the cold of her skin, no matter how the rain has sank into his bones. She doesn’t care, except for how much she needs the distance between them to break. To be nothing but the comfort of having him at her side.
What she doesn’t know is that they will not let her — not when she is like this.
But then again, she cannot help but try.
”Please, please don’t leave,” she begs, her voice so so soft, ”stay with me. I need you.” Orbs of icy blue — no longer flames that burn — search for him through the haze that clouds her. Her heart constricts at the pause that stretches, pregnant with the sudden quiet of their heartbeats.
Please don’t go.
@asterion ♡ holy fudge muffins I’m so so sorry for the wait darling D:
+ my muse strikes again and I have a healer post written too if you’d like <3
Everything would be right again.
But everything is not right. Not now.. maybe never again. And maybe, Aislinn tries, that will be okay. For this reality and kingdom of daydreams that they have built together — their shared faerie tale — is all she needs. And instinctively, magnetically, she is pulled, swaying because her skin craves his warmth. His loving touch. His imprinted kiss still burns upon the dark of her cheek. Asterion is here with her, and that alone bears down on her in a wash of relief that heals more than the salves on her wounds, and the drink poured down her throat.
You’re safe.
He’s right, she knows. She’s safe.. now. For the first time during the forever night, she sighs under the blanket of security that he has placed on her shoulders. On her heart. He alone has brought this to her, and Aislinn couldn’t be more wrought with false stability and anguish. Yet here he is — and what she does not realize, not yet, is how far he had come for her. In the dead of this long night, through sleet and ice and rain and fear like daggers piercing his own flesh.. Asterion had found her.
And then suddenly, her love for him is a light that washes over her in twilight gold and lavender shimmer. It is a healing salve brighter than Calligo’s moon and stars. It is Vespera’s defiance as the sun sets in the ever night. It is Orien’s strength of new dawn, and it is even Solis’ hellfire that scorches unsuspecting grounds. Her heart has swollen, and is near bursting with the sheer power of her gratitude — for it truly knows no bounds.
Her prince had come for her.
He had found her. In her darkest moments. When she needed him most.
Of course I did. I love you.
The liquid fire that has dribbled down her throat leaves her too tongue parched, but still she rasps, ”I love you,” stumbling and breaking over the words. Aislinn is cracking, another silver tear slipping through a thick of lashes. Her muzzle reaches towards him, willing to pull him closer. How much she needs to feel his warmth seep into the cold of her skin, no matter how the rain has sank into his bones. She doesn’t care, except for how much she needs the distance between them to break. To be nothing but the comfort of having him at her side.
What she doesn’t know is that they will not let her — not when she is like this.
But then again, she cannot help but try.
”Please, please don’t leave,” she begs, her voice so so soft, ”stay with me. I need you.” Orbs of icy blue — no longer flames that burn — search for him through the haze that clouds her. Her heart constricts at the pause that stretches, pregnant with the sudden quiet of their heartbeats.
Please don’t go.
@asterion ♡ holy fudge muffins I’m so so sorry for the wait darling D:
+ my muse strikes again and I have a healer post written too if you’d like <3
RE: we can weep and call it singing; - NPC Account - 03-27-2018
The night had been long — too long. Full of screaming and blood-soaked stones and the weight of a world crashing down with each feather that fell from her wing.
And her wing.. oh, she had never seen something so mangled. Hell bent and broken until it no longer looked like what it had once been. She could only guess that the thing had been an equal match to it’s twin, but still, the healer could not help the thorn vines that bit into her heart every time her eyes landed upon it. Even now, after hours of running around on her toes — from the initial discovery, the chaos, to settling her to set the wing before it began to heal on it’s own, naturally..
Even now, she did not falter from her duties. Although exhaustion tugged at her, lulling her, she had a job to uphold. After all, she was the Champion’s nurse until dawn broke.
Then, when she was moving through the motions of watching her ward, he had arrived.
Through the haste and mist of the commotion of her arrival, the healer had been told he might come. But now, this quickly, this fast.. her eyes only widened for a fraction with shock, before her heart settled and swelled. The way he looked at her, and how she had come alive through the pain and numbness of the alcohol poured down her throat.
Their reunion hurt her heart, yet not as much as the wounds that brought the storm mare here in the first place.
As she moved, tinkering with bottles and closing jars of salves and herbal pastes, she tried — and failed — to not listen to them. Their love was almost palpable, creating washes of gold in a dark and sterile place. Yet it was already cleaved her, even her, because he didn’t know.
And he did have the right to know.
When the mare moved too suddenly, she was there, tenderly lifting a bottle of drink to her lips. Wiping away the droplets that fell passed slack copper lips. The healer warred with her bleeding heart, trying to separate herself and become impartial. Her empathy understood; she knew all too well the shoes that the stallion filled. She knew the questions that would stir like a hurricane that could not be stopped, ruthless and unwanted, until answers were found.
She knew the need to be near his lover in her time of need. But still she shook her head. No. Don’t touch.
Only after her patient began to drift deeper into the haze of stupor born from the medicinal salves and the alcohol, did she gently tap on the stallion’s rain-soaked shoulder with her mind. Her eyes blinked rapidly before her own eyes settled onto his own; steady and true, and not near to neutral. She cleared her throat, motioning for them to step away and into the shadows. One eye and ear always monitoring, counting her breaths, noticing every minuscule change. The other focused on him, and the words that turned to lead in her mouth.
Her voice was a hushed whisper when she spoke. ”I know you have questions,” she started, gaze flickering to the mare, ”I understand. I didn’t see her, but the King had found her in the foyer, collapsed on the stones from shock and blood loss.” She licked her lips, throat suddenly parched. ”Her wing.. it had been broken in a fight.”
The healer was careful, holding back her next words. He had a right to know, more than anyone. ”All she said was a name. I overheard it as we began tending to her.. she was in bad shape. But she should recover okay. We shall see when the night is over.”
She found the unspoken question lingering in the air between them, a phantom star that nearly burst with the want of knowing her assailant. Her lashes fell on her cheeks, sucking in a breath; not knowing if she was truly helping then..
Before she whispered, ”Tor. All she said was ‘Tor’.”
Then, the healer bowed her head, vanishing back into her work again, not able to shake the feeling of dread that fell over her.
Maybe she shouldn’t have told him; she would never know.
@asterion @Aislinn
And her wing.. oh, she had never seen something so mangled. Hell bent and broken until it no longer looked like what it had once been. She could only guess that the thing had been an equal match to it’s twin, but still, the healer could not help the thorn vines that bit into her heart every time her eyes landed upon it. Even now, after hours of running around on her toes — from the initial discovery, the chaos, to settling her to set the wing before it began to heal on it’s own, naturally..
Even now, she did not falter from her duties. Although exhaustion tugged at her, lulling her, she had a job to uphold. After all, she was the Champion’s nurse until dawn broke.
Then, when she was moving through the motions of watching her ward, he had arrived.
Through the haste and mist of the commotion of her arrival, the healer had been told he might come. But now, this quickly, this fast.. her eyes only widened for a fraction with shock, before her heart settled and swelled. The way he looked at her, and how she had come alive through the pain and numbness of the alcohol poured down her throat.
Their reunion hurt her heart, yet not as much as the wounds that brought the storm mare here in the first place.
As she moved, tinkering with bottles and closing jars of salves and herbal pastes, she tried — and failed — to not listen to them. Their love was almost palpable, creating washes of gold in a dark and sterile place. Yet it was already cleaved her, even her, because he didn’t know.
And he did have the right to know.
When the mare moved too suddenly, she was there, tenderly lifting a bottle of drink to her lips. Wiping away the droplets that fell passed slack copper lips. The healer warred with her bleeding heart, trying to separate herself and become impartial. Her empathy understood; she knew all too well the shoes that the stallion filled. She knew the questions that would stir like a hurricane that could not be stopped, ruthless and unwanted, until answers were found.
She knew the need to be near his lover in her time of need. But still she shook her head. No. Don’t touch.
Only after her patient began to drift deeper into the haze of stupor born from the medicinal salves and the alcohol, did she gently tap on the stallion’s rain-soaked shoulder with her mind. Her eyes blinked rapidly before her own eyes settled onto his own; steady and true, and not near to neutral. She cleared her throat, motioning for them to step away and into the shadows. One eye and ear always monitoring, counting her breaths, noticing every minuscule change. The other focused on him, and the words that turned to lead in her mouth.
Her voice was a hushed whisper when she spoke. ”I know you have questions,” she started, gaze flickering to the mare, ”I understand. I didn’t see her, but the King had found her in the foyer, collapsed on the stones from shock and blood loss.” She licked her lips, throat suddenly parched. ”Her wing.. it had been broken in a fight.”
The healer was careful, holding back her next words. He had a right to know, more than anyone. ”All she said was a name. I overheard it as we began tending to her.. she was in bad shape. But she should recover okay. We shall see when the night is over.”
She found the unspoken question lingering in the air between them, a phantom star that nearly burst with the want of knowing her assailant. Her lashes fell on her cheeks, sucking in a breath; not knowing if she was truly helping then..
Before she whispered, ”Tor. All she said was ‘Tor’.”
Then, the healer bowed her head, vanishing back into her work again, not able to shake the feeling of dread that fell over her.
Maybe she shouldn’t have told him; she would never know.
RE: we can weep and call it singing; - Asterion - 04-04-2018
Asterion Oh, how he wishes he could hold to her gods – to any of the gods of Novus. Asterion has no one to pray to, not here; only the stars that shiver from behind their blanket of clouds, driven distant by the rain. Only to the spaces between each breath she takes, each beat of her heart. Such things are not made to listen to prayers, only dreams. But all his useless praying stops as soon as she responds to him. His eyes open again, dark as the sky outside, disbelief and hope warring like lightning. They are words he’s never heard before, words he’s never spoken – words he will carry, now. They will hang in his heart like a silver bell and toll their truth in time with each heartbeat. There is nothing that could keep him from her, now; he is heedless of her healers, heedless of her pain or his own damp sides. He meets her muzzle with his own, breathes a kiss onto the snip over her nose, ghosts his lips along her jaw, her cheek, the hollow above her eye. Until the nurse nudges him away again, though he can’t say whether it was through a physical touch or a mental one. He only knows that when Aislinn begs him to stay the space between them is enough to make him shatter. “I’m staying right here,” he vows, and does not let his gaze stray from the storm-washed blue of her eyes until they drift closed. Until her breathing softens, and her head droops. Only then does his attention begin to drift to her wing – That is when the whisper catches him. First an ear twists, but Asterion’s attention follows as he turns toward her. He doesn’t realize he’s holding her breath as she speaks; it’s not until the healer herself pauses that it blows out in a gust. A fight. He had known that part of her, wild storm-child, Champion of Battle, but he has never actually associated her with battle. With the violence of it, the physical contact, the pain and the blood. It makes the air sour to think of her hurt, makes something twist low in his belly, even when he knows it is not his place, not his business. His lips are parted but still he says nothing, only listens with need and with dread when the healer continues. She should recover okay - this he catches, holds, tucks away for a time when he is not waiting for the name. Tor. Asterion does not know what he was waiting to hear, but this name is frustrating in the way it does not satisfy him. He knows it only because of his brief time as a Regent – he knows it belongs to the Warden of Day. There is no other association. “Thank you,” he tells her, the words devoid of feeling, but she is already drifting away. The bay does not look after her; his gaze turns back to Aislinn, stilling his own breath to listen to the now-even rise and fall of hers, soft as sea-foam on the beach. He says nothing, only considers the name – Tor – and feels the way disappointment grows in him, spreading its sinister roots. He had wanted to make useful his anger and his worry and his fear; he had wanted some reason for revenge. A direction to point these black feelings, all foreign. But if it was only a battle between them, a warrior’s challenge gone wrong – Then Tor is a name he can do nothing about. @Aislinn <3 |
RE: we can weep and call it singing; - Aislinn - 04-30-2018
she was half human..
half universe.
I’m staying right here.
There was no direction for her weariness, her exhaustion, and her fear. All she needed was the promise of Asterion. Her twilight prince whom had found her in the icy rain and snow; on this long night where the shadows only continued to grow. She only longs to reach out to him, to brush his dream-kissed skin with her lips. His warmth leaves her though, and suddenly she is shivering beneath her bandages, desperately reaching outwards with her mind to find him. He said he would stay and now he is gone..
Anguish and daggers of white flame down her broken bones bleed tears through blurry eyes. ”Asterion.. Asterion.. please. Come back. Come back.”
He is only gone for a moment when her world breaks with a single name.
Tor.
Her ears ring with his name; copper lips curling in a drugged snarl. Despite the fire numbing her whole, from nerve to nerve she is aflame with her hatred. Not even the healer’s potions could keep the fire in her lungs from igniting. Out of fear, out of hatred, she doesn’t know. Her eyes widen, and she no longer sees the butter yellow of the infirmary’s lantern light, but a stark void of disturbed snow upon a plateau. The only color is the shining red of blood that seeps across the white like crimson fingers. And it is her blood her blood her blood her blood —
She cries out, thrashing as his face — those ruby eyes that ripped her soul open — meet her. ”Get him away from me. Get him AWAY FROM ME!”
Shh shh shh.
A metallic tang grips her, holding her neck and crown steady as her head is tilted back. Liquid dribbles down her throat generously, but it is not the fire from before. This draught is cool against her burning mouth, seeping clouds of lavender and dreamless slumber into her muscles. Her limbs grow heavy, tangled in the shadows and smoke that grow and cradle her. The potion is soothing ice and calm made real, and all too soon she is whimpering, moaning, whispering for her prince to come back to her.
”Stay with me. Stay with.. stay with.. stay..”
Aislinn can only wish to see his face through her tears as sleep overtakes her then.
@asterion ♡ short and
ANOTHER THREAD COMING UP LOVELY <3 thank you so much for this one oml ;u;
RE: we can weep and call it singing; - Asterion - 04-30-2018
Asterion There is quiet, for a moment, as he stands with the nurse and her whispering voice. And then Asterion hears her call his name, and fears his heart might rend to pieces, torn by the pain in her voice. His gaze is so serious, so heavy on the healer – until Aislinn screams. Then they both break into action, a covey of doves startled to flight. He does not pause to name the feelings that flood him then (Asterion has never felt hate before, only knows that this is an anger that freezes instead of burns). He is too busy filling his gaze with her, too busy forcing himself not to touch her, to let the healer do her work. His limited telepathy can do what he cannot; like a ghost he traces a touch along the arch of her neck, makes soothing circles and whorls. He does not realize he is tracing the same patterns that had been painted on him the night of the festival. At last she is quiet, at last she is still. Asterion leans forward to catch her final murmurs, though there is a part of him that wishes he hadn’t, for they undo something within him. “I’m here,” he promises, and, after a glance at he healer, places a quick kiss on the velvet of her nose. It tastes like salt, but that is better than copper. And then he waits, and he stays, as long as it takes. @Aislinn <3 |