stars hide your fires
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Ah the call of Terrastella is deep in her heart. It is the thump of blood in her veins that commands the rhythm of her dance. Her eyes watch him, all moon bright and silver light. That gaze is as steady as the hanging moon, it holds him like his moon shadow might. Leto frames him in darkness and starlight, witchery and leaves.
She moves, the smallest of gestures, the twitch of a bird upon the branch, but her bells chime as though the world deserved to know. Yet the masquerade swallows their declaration in song and laughter and the bells chime on for his and her ears alone.
This hybrid girl of earth and sky is an anomaly here. Her eyes sway from Asterion and the departing of her gaze is clouds tracking across the moon. Does the world feel darker when she does not look upon it? Do shadows teem? She does not dwell to think (she is not vain enough to think), but she watches the silks that swirl, sees the ripple of gossamer and wonders at how different she is: Leto is bare bark in this forest of blossom.
And she does not care.
As her gaze returns, the moonlight of it no longer holds costume silks but the fan of her kings lashes instead. She studies each, pressed tight against his cheeks. When did Leto stop dancing? Was it when Asterion fell into his dream world and pulled her down too? Wherever he pulls her, it tugs the smile from his lips too and her head tilts wild and curious. The star girl’s skull mask is milk in the light, pouring across the grooves of her face.
She tips forward, lighting him, yet again, in moonlight and galaxies. She does not smell (as he does) the salt of the sea, or the earthy metal of Tinea. No, instead she smells the alcohol upon his breath, the sweat of dance, the richness of incense. Yet she leans forward still, as though, wherever he is, she might smell it too.
And yes, there, closer than she should dare, she smells the swamp and the sea, upon his star-lit skin. They are just echoes upon him and whispers upon her tongue. Her king’s eyes open and Leto recoils, a star flung wide from a deity’s palm. Her ears are crumpled towers in the ebony vines of her hair.
Asterion agrees and a part of her slips loose, unwinding like a serpent from a tree. It falls away, limp as rope and vanishes like water through fingers. Leto smiles small and subtle, but it roars like Icarus’ blazing sun. Her chin lifts, as though reverent to the skies but so full, too, of savage pride for their drowned court. Terrastella would rise like the leviathan from the deep.
His laughter is music upon water, the chime of gold leaves in winter-claimed trees. Still she watches him warily for she was not made to bow to kings or queens. He leans in and, in perfect, mirroring dance, Leto sways away, but his lips are still close, his breath a fine liquor across her cheek.
Her king’s compliment washes over her painted skin and she does not recognize it as she should. Instead she looks up, up at the stars that blink down through open windows, she looks around at the throngs of bodies, the flashes of silk garments… This masquerade is a feast of colour and dance. But, Leto knows, “There are better wonders than here.” And then it is she who is lost, whose mind is full of clashing stars, of emerald swamps made beautiful and haunting with mist and splendor.
He asks for her name in exchange. She does not hesitate or deny him, she does not even think to. Her name, “Leto,” the song of it is a sigil she paints upon his skin. She tilts and sways to the laughter of bells that chink on her bone mask. “Tell me what you saw when you closed your eyes.” The starfire girl demands, holding him ransom in her moonlight gaze. “For that seemed far more precious to you than anything here.”
Leto thinks she might already know his answer, but she wants to hear him say it, to hear the passion, loyalty and love that a king should have for his land.
@Asterion
