"i walked into the room dripping in
gold. a wave of heads did turn,
or so i've been told"
gold. a wave of heads did turn,
or so i've been told"
EROS
A year has passed—more than, actually—since the first time he travelled through this forest; he’d gone with Ipomoea, in search of Aion and the Dawn Court. They had picked flowers, crafted a resplendent bouquet Eros had carried with him for months before it became so brittle the petals shattered. He’d tried valiantly to salvage them, unwilling to abandon the embodiment of his hope, but still they had blown away fragmented in the wind. Now, a year later, Eros returns, in search of a new bouquet and a new hope.
Dappled sunlight blankets the ground, ripples across his back as he wanders the forest. He lets instinct guide him as he moves from flower to flower. Color catches his eye, a sea of bluebells carpeting the forest floor beneath the canopied trees ahead. Eros knows this spot well: just beyond the bluebells lies a clearing he’s visited many times. There, not long ago, he had begun something special to him.
A few months prior, he’d travelled to the markets and, with what little currency he had, purchased a handful of perennial bulbs to plant before the first frost—a small garden of his own. Eros has returned a couple of times to check on them, but it is now early summer, and he’s come to see them in full bloom.
Eros first collects a few bluebells for his presently sparse bouquet, the constancy and everlasting love they symbolize a fitting addition to his arrangement. Under the sunlight they glow so violet they could be fluorescent; they’re some of the most beautiful wildflowers Eros thinks he’s ever seen. What if the ones I’ve planted don’t compare?, he worries. He’d be embarrassed to give Aion stunted or lackluster flowers.
But then he steps into the sunlight and sees them—vibrant daffodils, irises, and tulips of many colors have erupted from the soil.
Eros is drawn immediately to the tulips. They represent love, in its many forms, each color of tulip a different one. Love had once been foreign to him, or so he’d thought. He hadn’t loved his wife—at least not in the way he thought it mattered. But love isn’t just about attraction or passion, he realized; after all, he hadn’t loved Alek. Love can be thoughtfulness, protection, admiration, and he has a tattoo of a tulip to remind himself so. He picks three for his bouquet: a pink, a yellow, and a red one. Pink for care, yellow for happiness, and red for true love.
He’s filling in his arrangement with greens when someone calls his name, nearly startling the flowers out of his grasp. He turns to see none other than Ipomoea approaching. Eros rushes out to greet him, hoping he won’t notice the clearing quite yet.“Oh, hello, Po!” It’s certainly a surprise to see the appaloosa, Eros hasn’t since the Dawn Court’s meeting, and even then he wasn’t sure Po saw him. “What are you doing out here?”
@ipomoea
Dappled sunlight blankets the ground, ripples across his back as he wanders the forest. He lets instinct guide him as he moves from flower to flower. Color catches his eye, a sea of bluebells carpeting the forest floor beneath the canopied trees ahead. Eros knows this spot well: just beyond the bluebells lies a clearing he’s visited many times. There, not long ago, he had begun something special to him.
A few months prior, he’d travelled to the markets and, with what little currency he had, purchased a handful of perennial bulbs to plant before the first frost—a small garden of his own. Eros has returned a couple of times to check on them, but it is now early summer, and he’s come to see them in full bloom.
Eros first collects a few bluebells for his presently sparse bouquet, the constancy and everlasting love they symbolize a fitting addition to his arrangement. Under the sunlight they glow so violet they could be fluorescent; they’re some of the most beautiful wildflowers Eros thinks he’s ever seen. What if the ones I’ve planted don’t compare?, he worries. He’d be embarrassed to give Aion stunted or lackluster flowers.
But then he steps into the sunlight and sees them—vibrant daffodils, irises, and tulips of many colors have erupted from the soil.
Eros is drawn immediately to the tulips. They represent love, in its many forms, each color of tulip a different one. Love had once been foreign to him, or so he’d thought. He hadn’t loved his wife—at least not in the way he thought it mattered. But love isn’t just about attraction or passion, he realized; after all, he hadn’t loved Alek. Love can be thoughtfulness, protection, admiration, and he has a tattoo of a tulip to remind himself so. He picks three for his bouquet: a pink, a yellow, and a red one. Pink for care, yellow for happiness, and red for true love.
He’s filling in his arrangement with greens when someone calls his name, nearly startling the flowers out of his grasp. He turns to see none other than Ipomoea approaching. Eros rushes out to greet him, hoping he won’t notice the clearing quite yet.
@ipomoea
