Cyrene
she spun herself a crown of gold,
thrones of bones and citadels.
—
The surprise lasted for only a second, before Cyrene schooled her features back into a mask of guarded — albeit just barely — concern. Amber eyes lingered across the planes of Velorca’s quicksilver frame, narrowing at the blood that covered every inch of him like crimson dapples. A mirror of her own.
"Cyrene.” Her name slipped from his lips like satin, dark and smooth and sharp all at once. Her thinly held composure wavered, suddenly as fragile as a gossamer thread as she stared at the boy in front of her. He was all angles, all strength and fury and pain, wrapped in a body as fine and lethal as a sword. He was her undoing.
Yet she remained as motionless as a marble-hewn statue. It took all the strength left in the Emissary’s trembling limbs to keep herself from falling forwards and collapsing into him like a wave against the shore.
“You shouldn't be here.” A weary smile played across her lips like a fleeting shadow, as she shook her head softly at his growing frown. “I did say I would come to Solterra, you know.” Her smile lasted for no more than a moment, before it too faded into nothingness.
To reunite under these conditions — how could she feel an ounce of happiness? Yet still, Cyrene felt it pull maddeningly at the edges of her heart. A moonflower, blooming and blooming despite the flames of grief and agony that sought to ignite it with every breath.
“Many things have — changed, since then,” Cyrene spoke, her gaze moving away from Velorca's aurum eyes to gaze mutely at the wound that still dripped warm blood from his neck. Since then — how far away that night spent under the stars seemed now.
When they stood in silence under a suffocating night, their bodies drenched scarlet by the blood that spattered them both in a gory imitation of constellations.
Solemnly, she drew her eyes over the armor that encased him from neck to stomach, lingering upon the spear that hung loosely by his side. She'd seen it too many times to be mistaken. The armor of the Davke.
How much did she truly know about him?
Nothing.
But does it matter? It scared her, how little she felt at the revelation. It scared her, how little she cared what he was. If this boy, drenched in the blood of a burning kingdom, told Cyrene that he was a monster — then she was the girl who would protect that monster with the fury of a thousand suns.
“Please let me heal your wounds,” she murmured, her voice quiet yet uncharacteristically firm as it echoed through the arid Solterran night. “We have many hours until the sun rises. I will tell you all that has happened since last we met.”
And I ask the same from you, spoke those eyes as fierce as a lion’s, as she waited for his answer.
@Velorca | "speaks" | notes: <3
she spun herself a crown of gold,
thrones of bones and citadels.
—
The surprise lasted for only a second, before Cyrene schooled her features back into a mask of guarded — albeit just barely — concern. Amber eyes lingered across the planes of Velorca’s quicksilver frame, narrowing at the blood that covered every inch of him like crimson dapples. A mirror of her own.
"Cyrene.” Her name slipped from his lips like satin, dark and smooth and sharp all at once. Her thinly held composure wavered, suddenly as fragile as a gossamer thread as she stared at the boy in front of her. He was all angles, all strength and fury and pain, wrapped in a body as fine and lethal as a sword. He was her undoing.
Yet she remained as motionless as a marble-hewn statue. It took all the strength left in the Emissary’s trembling limbs to keep herself from falling forwards and collapsing into him like a wave against the shore.
“You shouldn't be here.” A weary smile played across her lips like a fleeting shadow, as she shook her head softly at his growing frown. “I did say I would come to Solterra, you know.” Her smile lasted for no more than a moment, before it too faded into nothingness.
To reunite under these conditions — how could she feel an ounce of happiness? Yet still, Cyrene felt it pull maddeningly at the edges of her heart. A moonflower, blooming and blooming despite the flames of grief and agony that sought to ignite it with every breath.
“Many things have — changed, since then,” Cyrene spoke, her gaze moving away from Velorca's aurum eyes to gaze mutely at the wound that still dripped warm blood from his neck. Since then — how far away that night spent under the stars seemed now.
When they stood in silence under a suffocating night, their bodies drenched scarlet by the blood that spattered them both in a gory imitation of constellations.
Solemnly, she drew her eyes over the armor that encased him from neck to stomach, lingering upon the spear that hung loosely by his side. She'd seen it too many times to be mistaken. The armor of the Davke.
How much did she truly know about him?
Nothing.
But does it matter? It scared her, how little she felt at the revelation. It scared her, how little she cared what he was. If this boy, drenched in the blood of a burning kingdom, told Cyrene that he was a monster — then she was the girl who would protect that monster with the fury of a thousand suns.
“Please let me heal your wounds,” she murmured, her voice quiet yet uncharacteristically firm as it echoed through the arid Solterran night. “We have many hours until the sun rises. I will tell you all that has happened since last we met.”
And I ask the same from you, spoke those eyes as fierce as a lion’s, as she waited for his answer.
@Velorca | "speaks" | notes: <3
