Everything hurts. His legs are ready to give out at any moment, and his head is throbbing—he hasn’t slept in days and he’s probably dehydrated from the sheer amount of water he’s lost in tears. Even now they don’t stop streaming down his face; he doesn’t know the last time his cheeks were dry. This isn’t how it was supposed to go. He loves him and he misses him, why isn’t that enough? Why can’t he find him? Where is he? Is he…is he still looking?
That thought hurts the most, that Aion might’ve given up. It forces him to his knees, the perceptible pain a stinging in his eyes and constriction of his throat. The brittle grass crunches under his weight as he falls to his side at the edge of the stream. Eros looks down at his reflection, the vitality and beauty drained from his face; his eyes are red and sunken, the skin on his cheeks raw from the cold and frozen tears. The shriveled and browned arrangement of flowers held in his teeth tremble as he shivers in a gust of winter wind.
He tucks the tattered bouquet in close to his belly, curling himself around it in an attempt to protect the flowers from the elements. It was a wonder they had lasted this long, summer long forgotten. Of course, leaves had broken off and a portion of the petals had blown away in the wind, but he refuses to discard them, ever-optimistic he’ll soon be able to give them to his mate. Eros imagines how he’ll smile, a little embarrassed by the state of his present, but he’ll be happy because he has Aion.
With thoughts of their reunion in his head, his tears begin to slow, and he is finally able to rest.
For some inexplicable reason, he's drawn back to Amare Creek again. Once before, he'd walked silent and serene among the ancient boughs, a pale vision among the rich emerald greens and earthy browns. Here where he met the intriguing man of Day, who reminded him much of the Trade Cities of his homeland, smelling of heat and sand, perfume and glittering gold. A vision, a mirage made to tempt the easily tempted.
There's a sense of quiet intimacy here, underneath the canopy and the embrace of low hanging branches, perfect for the lovers and loners alike.
Quiet is something his discord addled soul needed.
He's not here to reminisce about the man with golden eyes and hair as enviable as his own. In fact, his thoughts waltz a lovers waltz through the halls of his mind — before it burned into a tango into the shadows, embers licking across his skin as the figures faded into the night. The floor beneath his metaphorical hooves shattered as ice and fire rose up to seize his chest. Such is the power of his warring mind that it nearly seized the breath from his lungs.
Yet here, he can whisper to the trees and they will sigh a song on the wind. They will not judge him, their sentinel presence will not bow and turn away at his confessions. They will listen just as they always have, to the lone souls and those who have entangled in one another and promised to never be apart. They will also listen to him as he distracts himself, humming out his thoughts and feelings on the current and precarious precipice that has become Court life.
Tulle cloak is pulled further around his slender scaled frame, as another whisper of winter wind threatened to rake his sensitive flesh. His halo, an ornate and gilded thing, catches in the frosty sunlight, the gems scattering it's light over their many beautiful facets. He's not sure how long he'd walked among the steadily barren trees still clinging to a few precious leaves, but soon the ground parted for the stream and the babbling water stilled his hoof before the cloven tips could brush the surface.
Isorath doesn't have much time to ponder his reflection, or dwell on his thoughts because there is something in the corner of his eye that commanded his attention almost immediately. The stallion is almost as pale as him, curled up on the ground around something he can't quite discern. Briefly, a part of him wanted to turn away and slip back into the clutches of the forest he'd emerged from. But to go back that way would mean him being alone with his not so pleasant thoughts and his duties. So, he swallowed his own acid and tilted his antlered head toward the still body.
Weariness begins to tug at his eyelids, a heavy weight that settles over his aching body. The afternoon sun is curtained by the dense expanse of forest that surrounds the creek, and the sounds of trickling water murmur a lullaby. Perhaps, were the weather warmer and the circumstance different, it’d be pleasant here—somewhere to come and spend a quiet day in the peaceful company of a lover.
Presently, it taunts him, reminds him he no longer has someone to curl up against in rest. Sleep had always come easier when he had someone to hold him, a distraction from the anxiety that bubbled up in the shadow of night. He had always had someone, be it his mother, whose mane he’d tug on as a foal when storms would wake him; Alek, who helped him escape the realities of his life when he felt trapped; Lepus, who’d sing him to sleep when his mind was too loud; a client, who helped him forget the trauma; or Aion, who had always been there to kiss away the tears from his cheeks. Now, he’s never felt more alone.
Sometimes, when he’s blessed with a dream and not a nightmare, he thinks he can almost feel the warmth of his mate against his back. On those nights, he wills himself to stay asleep as long as possible before the sun tears open his eyes and yanks him from the comfort of his reverie. And then, he’s off again on his search. Today, it was harder to get up, and he’s feeling drained even earlier than usual; he wonders why. He’s almost too fatigued to notice another horse approaching.
He blinks his eyes a few times, trying to clear the grogginess that has burred his vision. The horse is white, like him, with hints of gold. But he’s taller, and has a mane, and antlers, and wings, too. Eros supposes the stallion is a prettier version of what he might’ve looked like.
“Waiting for someone?,” the man asks. Eros wonders if he is waiting; he thought for sure he was looking. Waiting implies passivity—looking implies initiative, right? The question almost makes him feel guilty for stopping to rest, but the wave of lightheadedness that rushes over him silences that thought.
“Waiting, I guess, and looking, but I haven’t had any luck. What about you?” @isorath
it's def not terrible!!
sorry i took so long, i'm hoping to write at least a reply a week from now on! ;u;
Part of him expected the other to remain silent, judging by the grogginess and exhaustion which lined the stranger's face. If it were he who wore such things like a pale shroud, he would of remained silent, brushed off the posed question with an inelegant turn of his head further into the nook he'd created for himself.
Briefly, he wondered why. Why had the pale stallion had chosen to rest in the forest, given that winter had dug her grip deep into the land and painted her frigid frost and chilling ice upon everything the eye could glean.
Surprise took his face then, when the stranger unfurled and regarded him. Leathery wings shifted under the graze, gilded talons flexing against his flesh lightly out of habit.
'Waiting, I guess, and looking, but I haven’t had any luck. What about you?'
More so, he hadn't expected the question to be turned on him. It's his turn to lapse into silence now, a thoughtful, deliberate silence where his heart scraped against his chest in it's may splinters, it's cystal song woeful and filled with discord. Was he waiting? He supposed. An answer? Perhaps. A combination of the both — definitely.
Not that he actually wanted the answer, as his mind drifted, dared to dance and glide over the thing which he already knew. The kirin could reach the answer quite easily, all it would take was admittance. Oh, but when he did, there was the dread of waiting for eternity, wanting for eternity. Adrift in the starscape with the hourglass of time, as it moved ever onward and the sands poured.
He had come here because the trees couldn't answer, they could do nothing but listen and let him drift away from himself. Could not convince him, could not make him confront himself.
"Escaping for awhile." Isorath answered, surprisingly honest as his antlered head tilted toward the canopy above. "There are some answers in the World which cause too many problems." After a moment, he forced himself onward, away from the danger and the daggers which hid in the shadows. Elegantly, he lowered himself to the ground, careful to make sure the cloak which swathed him took the brunt of the cold soil and moss. Deliberately, he kept his eyes off of the wingless stallion, for the fear of him seeing what dwelled within his lilac eyes.
"The one you are searching for, tell me about them."
He’s heard tales of the lonely dying of broken hearts, read of such tragedy in stories when he was younger. Is this what it feels like?, he thinks; this weakness, this lightheadedness, this hollow feeling in his limbs (not his heart, his heart is full of love). And maybe he’s being overdramatic, a hypochondriac of only the most romantic sort, but he can’t stop himself from wondering if one could perish of heartache.
Of course, he suffers only from dehydration and a bout of delusion, but Eros has always possessed a tendency for theatrics.
“Sometimes I wish I could escape my reality for a while.” He supposes many do,—after all, life is unkind to most everyone at some point—but troubles of the mind are often the most difficult to evade. He knows, anxiety has long been a trial of his, and insecurity with it.
The stranger settles on the ground next to him, but doesn’t meet his eyes. Eros frowns and peers into the stream beside them. His reflection stares back, sad and rather unsightly. He can’t blame the man for not wanting to look at him, he supposes, and looks away from himself then, too. Would Aion still find him beautiful?
Aion. “He’s handsome, and smart, and gentle.”Except for when I ask him not to be, he thinks to himself and inwardly laughs, allowing a small smile to reach his eyes. “He makes me feel really special. Do you have someone like that?” @isorath <3
all the sides of eros' personality here, wow
