Alecto Vermillio Raptis
✧
H
e is a dancer, he is a figment, he is light itself from the heavens bent onto the body of the sea. Beautiful. Untouchable. Ethereal. Alecto moves among the fire like a flame himself, as though he was made from the royal hues and their burning hearts, as though he’s risen from the yellow flames and painted his eyes in shades of gold. Antlers of light spring up upon his head, glittering as only gold can, dancing with the shadows, marrying them as dawn comes to the world and the night sighs her final goodbye as she lapses into slumber. All of Delumine is quiet, save for the hushed fall of feet from citizens of the Southern reaches who trek into the North - far from their home in the name of unity, in the name of strength. And he does not mind the brush of bodies against his own.
And he does not push away the eyes that purr along his skin, stroking his ego that arches as a cat beneath their gentle touch.
Alecto dances to the beat of the world, spins stories of Knights and Queens, of Kings and glory. Children gather for tale after tale and then dart away, the same starlight of his skin glittering in their too-bright eyes alongside the wonder that only children seem to hang on to. When they grow up, he knows it will be vanquished like every beast and he thanks Tienar for the pleasures still proffered to him despite the years that have fled from his skin like water down the mountains of Varan.
Today is not a day for thoughts of home, thoughts of the city that once held him, nor the sorrow it brings to know that he does not see his sisters each night and kiss his mother in the morning before heading out into the world. With the fires that burn bright (oh, the fires of Vectaeryn are much more beautiful, but he’ll never tell you so, he’d never admit such a thing to an Outsider) and play upon the eyes as fingers on a harp, he lets himself fall into the world that’s caught him.
It presses bright flowers into his spine, it curls jewels into his skin, it carves names into the annals of his story until he would not forget them even if they forget the name Alecto.
Such is the way of his life that is lived selfishly. A life for himself is a life that is free. And how free he is as he listens to the tales woven by the Shed-Stars that stick to their clans, their little covens huddled together to titter and whisper happily among themselves. When a brave soul approaches, they stop and look into time itself.
Alecto does not question what they divine, but he does not approach them. His is a fate best left unknown.
For a moment, he pauses. Delumine’s lights wink on in the early morning. They begin to trail out their doors and into the sea of Denoctians, threading their own bodies among those of the South until they are a throng of death and life, until they are a song as old as time itself. Their voices rise together and their laughter is a poultice applied to a gaping wound.
He is not truly one of them.
So fresh still from the boat, so new still to Novus, some merchants that recognize him from their land entertain him for a time before he leaves their company. If they stare, he does not know. But of course, they always stare when he walks away, disappearing into the masses again.
It is among the bodies that purple moves as satin. Gems hang from her skin as though they are nothing. Laughter spills from lavender lips and his own tilt up in response. Such is a magical drink, the laughter of others spun into the heart of another, and so Alecto presses forward to find what is so merry about Mesyni this night. Hers is a face common in Denocte, but she is one he has not spoken to...yet.
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you
