He barely registered her surprised ”Oh!”, nor the way she looked his body up and down with a frown and a furrowed brow. Aion was only present in part; the rest of him was scattered back in Solterra, among the dust and the fires of war. He can still see the bloody and wounds and ruin in his mind; every jagged edge is forever burned into his subconscious, categorized and stored away with the rest of his bad memories.
But bad memories like to resurface at bad times.
“Even a temporary death feels like death nonetheless,” his voice is little more than a whisper, a dare to challenge her beliefs. He couldn’t stop himself; arguing was in his nature, imbued into his DNA. And besides, he of all people should know best about death. Aion doubted a girl singing about flowers and love and sunshine would be well versed in heartbreak and despair.
An involuntary shudder crawls up his spine, trickling like ice back down his back. But he pushes the thoughts away; banishing the blood and the pyres and the betrayals from his mind. It’s by no small effort that he forces his attention onto the mare instead, with her striped wings and her crown of flowers and her baby blue eyes. They match the skies here in Delumine—and Aion wonders if they might match his own, too, shade for shade.
She asks if he’s alright then, and he almost laughs; the chuckle is there, creeping up his throat without asking for permission. But he catches it just in time, cuts it off with a not-so-subtle cough. His eyes fall to the ground, feigning interest in the wild and bright poppies growing like weeds there.
“No, I’m not.” How simple it would be, to just lie down in the flowers that surrounded them and forget about the rest of the world. To drown himself in their beauty without any intention of saving himself. He looks up at her then, meeting her soft gaze with his icy own. “But I will be.” Or so he hoped. He had yet to find the fabled light at the end of the tunnel, his search to be made whole again still a work in progress. But if he had done it once, chances are he would again.
“To the Dawn Court?” he echoed, his ears tilting forward in interest. He shouldn’t be surprised, but he is; he isn’t used to honesty from strangers, after all. Nearly every person he’s met was moving in the opposite direction; Aion was convinced he was doomed to spend his time here in Novus alone. But she confirms his question with a grin—and an invitation.
For the first time in a very long time, a ghost of a smile crosses his lips and ignites the frigid depths of his eyes. “I would love to. Though you can sing anything you’d like—just forgive me when I don’t join in.”
Truth be told, he could use a little more of her optimism in his life. He falls into step beside her, keeping a measurable amount of space between their two bodies. “My name is Aion. And your’s..?”
@lisseut you’re perfect <3 super sorry for the confusion!
"talk." text.
art by neverrmind
