 I S O R A T H
— you will ache as I ache— tenderly, tragically, beautifully.
Spring buds and birdsong greeted Isorath the moment he stepped from the slowly warming stone stairs. All around, life ghosted and skirted around the lingering frost like the stream through the forest, coaxing life to flourish in vibrant splashes and dazzling hues beneath banners of sunlight. Thin pale streaks which fought against the clouds painted across the sky in smokey palettes of grey and white, with the sort of desperation and determination one would expect from the sun. The Rotunda had been outfitted for the Kirin and his intended company earlier on, rich velvet banners embroidered with Denocte's proud colors floated alongside sheer drapes of snow white. Providing an extra touch of luxury and privacy to it's occupants. It radiated warmth and home to the Sage, with it's plush pillows and blankets within, the incense burners who permeated the air with their perfumed smoke. Inviting those who gazed upon it closer, to slip past the veil and curl themselves within the richness, warm, content and never wishing to leave. 'it's almost as if you never left Sunsyia, with all your silks and finery. And the tea.' Aether's voice mused across his mind, the dragon himself coiled lazily ontop of one of the ancient high walls. Frost crept out from beneath his great bulk, spindly tendrils against the pitch black hue of his form. Never too far from Isorath's side, Aether kept one white eye on his companion at all times, protective and intrigued all in the same breath. Aether also made a rather grand statement of making sure no one bothered or caused trouble, a dragon was a rather handy silent threat. 'there's nothing wrong with enjoying yourself, and finery. With friends no less.' Isorath retorted, punctuated by a lazy flick of his ear. He was more focused on setting up the ornate tea set he was so fond of, and making sure there was room for the food that would arrive shortly. Until then, there was the selection of sweets he'd picked up from the night markets, similar to the ones he'd had a penchant for at home. Once done, he resigned himself to the comfort of the ink colored blanket he had elected to claim for himself, upon the equally dark cushion. The smell of incense curled in his nostrils, with the undertone of tea leaves and his own perfume. He'd sent word to Aislinn to see him in the Garden, if she was feeling up to it. He had worried and fussed internally when word had reached him of her wounds. Few had managed to earn such a fond spot in his heart, such a strange and fickle thing that it was, wounded and jealousy guarding the tenderness it had left. TAG: @Aislinn NOTES: <3 "this here is your speech colour! |
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of course i feel too much
i'm a universe of exploding stars She had half a thought that her invitation had been a fluke; that when one of the healers had found her in her tower chambers — for finally, she had been moved from the infirmary — that maybe, there could have been a mistake. Her dear friend, her confidant, Dusk’s dragon and stormchild.. here. In her kingdom. In the City of Starlight. In her home. Questions had been born on her lips, unspoken. Although her confusion ailed her as much as the bandages wrapped keenly around her ruined wing, the stormsinger could not deny the swell of her heart. She had been wallowing in her own misery, drowning in the shadow of Torstein’s lingering words, and seething at the blood that continued to well where her feathers had been plucked by teeth shredding her precious skin. But nothing would stop her from accepting his invitation. Aislinn had hauled herself from her pillows, biting back a wince as spears of white flame rubbed where her bones had begun to heal. Her heart thunders with each shuffling step, bursting with.. excitement. A spring breeze flirts with her hair, caressing her skin in soft tendrils of flower’s perfume as she travels through the winding halls and their open windows. Each hoofbeat is a drum of her heart that nearly bursts, overwhelming the dark memories of her battle upon the Steppe — smothering them into nothing. All that matters is she almost upon the open doors to the Rotunda; moments from seeing a beloved, familiar face. Sunlight blinds her in pierces of gold and shimmer as she crosses the threshold to the gardens. Dark lashes fall to cover her eyes, adjusting to the bright colors of earth’s rebirth of new grass and blossoms of every color one could possibly imagine. Her ears catch the flapping of drapes in the winds that swirl around her, but it is the shadow that is cast over her that causes her to tilt her crown skyward. Blue orbs land upon a creature of myth, of legend, flaring to brightest flames before simmering into a closed cast as she dips her crown towards the dragon. Oxygen burns in her throat, held steadfast from her pause, before she looses it. A slow inhale. A slower exhale. Her racing heart calming, despite the ominous presence of a legend on the perch of their castle. Seconds pass and she is moving, her stare blinking to accompany the figure who has curled themselves upon a mess of silken pillows at the garden’s center. There is a tenderness that grows within her, a gentleness that softens the tense coil of her muscles beneath midnight skin. Although her wing may be riddled, destroyed in a mess of soaked bandages and torn feathers, she cannot find the room to care. All she can feel is the curve of coppery lips, reaching skywards as she grins. ”Isorath,” she gushes, an unfamiliar sound on her tongue. She is upon him then, taking in the ornate table and blankets and finery. Her gaze catches on the jewels that glimmer under the sun’s beams, and her nostrils flare with the incense that fills her lungs with whispers of smoke. Slowly, she falls to her knees, curling her legs beneath her as she is ever careful of the wing at her side. Aislinn’s eyes to not tear from the man of porcelain gold; all ivory and silks and ethereal beauty. ”You’ve outdone yourself, my friend. This.. this is amazing.” @isorath ♡ I’m so excited it’s not even funny xD "Aislinn speech."
of course i feel too much
i'm a universe of exploding stars Aislinn, my dear friend. He is polished white gold under a spring time sun, draped in gauzy silks that mirror the midnight of her skin. And oh, his words are welcome sun drops that melt on her heart, swelling the organ until it could nearly burst. The feeling is so unlike the ruthless sunlight of day, for this one.. this one is happiness and contentment, admiration and gentleness. The beating of her heart is tipping over with tenderness and the rare sort of affection she did not realize could be born for friends. So much so, that Aislinn could swear he might be able to see her heart through the bone cage of her ribs, where it lays and shines brighter than a newborn star. The stormsinger’s eyes are shimmering jewels of sapphire, akin to the gems that glitter and drape across every fine ivory curve of him. Isorath, the Flamekeeper, now no longer swathed in silks of twilight and dusk, but of Calligo’s sweet darkness. Her smile only curves, curling at a single edge; because she notices then, how starlight and shadows truly are befitting of him. And now.. Now he is one of them. Like her. A Child of the Night. Her smile does not dare falter as her eyes take in the details of each tea cup and dish of herbs. Incense curls in her lungs, wisping and seeping relaxing muses into her tired, healing muscles as she further lounges upon the mess of pillows. She but only takes a moment, a still moment in which her orbs flutter close and spring winds tickle the tangles of her mane. And when her gaze blinks open, Aislinn cannot help but gasp — for petals, beautiful, snowflakes of vernal pink, fall and dance in the breeze from the trees lining the garden. How wonderful this moment is then; that she could forever hold this memory close to her. Never to be forgotten. For as she looks to him once more, the moment fading, she notes the wafts of heat rising from his skin. Where silks do and jewels do not touch him, warmth floods from alabaster skin and scales of gold. So unlike the bonded that perches lazily upon the walls of the Night Keep. The dragon — still she stumbles over her belief in what she sees — is woven from myth and legend. He is a thing of stories, all ice and fire and the iridescence that could only be found in dark eternal. But she is not afraid. Her fear only stems from one thing. A Solterran Warden. How are you feeling? Uncommonly, the stormsinger sighs, the weight of her wounded wing suddenly too heavy. The bandaged appendage droops, sinking onto the too lovely pillows beneath her, but yet she can no longer find the strength too worry about the blood. Gaze downcast, seeing nothing, she whispers, ”To be truthful, I don’t know.” Tears, hot and threatening, pin prick in her eyes. But Aislinn is strong — she forbids them, banning them, dismissing them. There is only the memory of silver lining her eyes that lingers as she peers into his lilac pools. She finds a familiar comfort in his gaze, using such as a tether so she does not fall into the pits of the pain that would rather swallow her whole. What she does not admit, however, is how Torstein’s words still haunt her so. She looks to the petals that drift, landing one by one on the table laying between them. ”Is it so wrong that I feel as if I am forever bound to Mother Earth now? Never to swim in the skies again?” she asks. A murmur, barely audible; possibly a thought she didn’t mean to share. Shaking her crown, a laugh escapes her, wild and chasing away her demons. A ghost of her smile returns. ”Tell me about you, Isorath. How are you doing now that you are one of Calligo’s own?” @isorath eeeep ♡ please excuse the rust "Aislinn speech."
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