The night was magical, alive with the sparkle of sparks which flew from the bonfire. They were red and gold, but oh, they were also blue and purple, fed by the magic of those who threw colored sand into the blaze. Festival-goers danced as the flames grew higher, lust painted on their lips as they chose companions for the night, dancing closer than would be proper but uncaring for decorum.
It was a night like the one where he’d first met Elena, like the night where she’d first met Tenebrae too. As he thought of the duality of last Summerfest, Azrael scowled into his drink. His grip on the glass grew tighter, until he has to look away from the flames to still his heart, gaze tilting toward the sky as he drags a ragged breath to still his thoughts.
He throws back what is left of the vesper, turning from the fire and nodding numbly to a girl who wraps a seashell necklace about his neck as he passes. She pecks him on the cheek, but the shed-star pays little notice as he walks through the crowd with a single-minded purpose.
Clarity.
It was a thing so rarely granted these days, and Azrael sighs as he wonders if life would ever be simple again. By the gods, he hoped it would, but simple was harder and harder to come by. For the past several months, his life had been many things. It had been steeped in drama, as his heart was broken, then patched with words of forgiveness and promise. But it hadn't been simple.
Azrael finds Elena, watching as she mingles with the crowd, her blue eyes meeting his from time to time as she offers him a soft and encouraging smile. On the fringes of the event, he feels more like an outsider than ever, looking in on a scene he might have found exciting under different circumstances. Instead, he feels trapped in his own skin, wanting to run away with the golden girl and hide her away from all of them – keeping her all to himself.
He wants to bruise her with punishing kisses until it is only his name on her lips, until she forgets all about the monk and their affair. Part of Azrael hates himself for thinking such things. He knows Elena would resent him for it too – so he tries to push the dark thoughts from his mind, smiling in return to her, though a part of him breaks to do it.
The more he watches, the more he sees. He sees the Tenebrae in the darkness, blind but watching still, his shadows forming and unforming, reaching for all that they can touch. Further still, he sees Boudika– watching Tenebrae, watching Elena, watching him.
Azrael recognizes the look in her eyes, torn between affection and betrayal, between hurt and forgiveness. The shed-star sees in Boudika a kindred spirit, each the ‘other’ pawn in a lovesick game. And he makes his way to her, pushing through the crowd as it parted before him, desperate to know if she felt as lost as he, like a ship trapped in a bottle but longing for the sea.
@Boudika
