[P] wild roses [fire]

[Elliot]

elliot

Dying is an Art, like everything else.

Evening is falling. Spring has come to Novus, and another festival is being thrown. I walk with careful purpose through the meadow outside the Dawn Court, which is bright with flickering firelight of colors from the expected to the mystical. Everywhere I look, equines are dancing around the bonfires and leaping through the flames.

I imagine how they would look in stone, like wingless angels floating through the air; hair suspended, eyes closed. Perhaps when I return to Terrastella I might try and realize such a vision. For now, I weave in and out of gathered patrons, waiting for something, or someone, to catch my eye.

I spot a few familiar faces—a handful of students and staff from the Academy—and I hope they will enjoy themselves without putting their studies in jeopardy. Tonight, I am not a Headmaster. Tonight, I am Elliot. A man and an artist.

Tomorrow I will be someone else, perhaps. The festival is a stop on the way to Solterra, to deliver a piece to a prominent family. But tonight I am not deliverer; just maker, just seeker. And I am seeking something I’m still waiting to find out I need.

"Speaking."

♔ | @Mesnyi