Cyrene
your skin smells like light
I think you are the moon
I think you are the moon
Seraphina.
A silver streak through a tangle of limbs, white hair like starlight in a sea of bobbing heads.
A crown of white lilies atop her head.
With a soft leap, dark curls flying, Cyrene crossed the glade of trampled grass as fleet footed as a deer. She was certain; her eyes, honed sharp after a life of daring excursions, had never deceived her. Hooves clicked a two-beat rhythm as grass gave way to stone, the path leading to the pavilion an onerous jungle of fabrics and legs and revelry.
Not an issue, not an issue, Cyrene hummed in agitation as she stretched her neck high to scan for a flash of starlight hair. Solterra’s Queen was here, a startling appearance after months of sand dusted correspondence sent by hawk (and dove, in Terrastella’s case), and she was not going to let the chance simply waltz away on silver legs. Not when they’d barely gotten past greetings the last time — the first time — they’d met.
Expelling a soft breath, the Emissary tucked her wings tightly behind her and dove headfirst into the belly of the beast.
There was a performance going on, and from the cheers exploding like fireworks around her, it was going tremendously well. A sliver of curiosity inched into her thumping heart — curiosity had always been her downfall, she supposed — and Cyrene slowed her relentless charge just a tad to spare a quick glance.
And almost laughed in surprise. She now knew why the crowd was almost exclusively female. The musicians, foreign perhaps?, were good looking lads, their marble-hewn cheekbones flashing under the light of the lanterns. With a sly smile, she turned away.
She knew someone prettier than them. Shame he wasn’t here.
The crown of white lilies was moving farther and farther away as she lingered, and with a gasp she twisted her shoulders and slipped like an eel through the last bits of the crowd.
“Seraphina!” She paused for breath when she caught the silver queen at last, a bright grin tugging the corners of her lips skywards. “I knew I hadn’t imagined it.” Crimson wings settled like a downy cloak along her sides as she idly tucked a curl back into her braid.
“The festival has gathered all the kingdoms under one banner, if only for a night — I am glad of it, as transient as it is,” she said, amber gaze flicking idly towards the crowd. And then, like a lantern extinguished, her eyes dimmed as her voice turned solemn. “Have your wounded recovered well?”
-- ♥︎ --
@Seraphina | "speaks" | -wipes sweat off brow- now that I plopped this up, have a much more upbeat cy!
A silver streak through a tangle of limbs, white hair like starlight in a sea of bobbing heads.
A crown of white lilies atop her head.
With a soft leap, dark curls flying, Cyrene crossed the glade of trampled grass as fleet footed as a deer. She was certain; her eyes, honed sharp after a life of daring excursions, had never deceived her. Hooves clicked a two-beat rhythm as grass gave way to stone, the path leading to the pavilion an onerous jungle of fabrics and legs and revelry.
Not an issue, not an issue, Cyrene hummed in agitation as she stretched her neck high to scan for a flash of starlight hair. Solterra’s Queen was here, a startling appearance after months of sand dusted correspondence sent by hawk (and dove, in Terrastella’s case), and she was not going to let the chance simply waltz away on silver legs. Not when they’d barely gotten past greetings the last time — the first time — they’d met.
Expelling a soft breath, the Emissary tucked her wings tightly behind her and dove headfirst into the belly of the beast.
There was a performance going on, and from the cheers exploding like fireworks around her, it was going tremendously well. A sliver of curiosity inched into her thumping heart — curiosity had always been her downfall, she supposed — and Cyrene slowed her relentless charge just a tad to spare a quick glance.
And almost laughed in surprise. She now knew why the crowd was almost exclusively female. The musicians, foreign perhaps?, were good looking lads, their marble-hewn cheekbones flashing under the light of the lanterns. With a sly smile, she turned away.
She knew someone prettier than them. Shame he wasn’t here.
The crown of white lilies was moving farther and farther away as she lingered, and with a gasp she twisted her shoulders and slipped like an eel through the last bits of the crowd.
“Seraphina!” She paused for breath when she caught the silver queen at last, a bright grin tugging the corners of her lips skywards. “I knew I hadn’t imagined it.” Crimson wings settled like a downy cloak along her sides as she idly tucked a curl back into her braid.
“The festival has gathered all the kingdoms under one banner, if only for a night — I am glad of it, as transient as it is,” she said, amber gaze flicking idly towards the crowd. And then, like a lantern extinguished, her eyes dimmed as her voice turned solemn. “Have your wounded recovered well?”
@
