asterion,
There is a moment, when he is still a breath away from her, when there is nothing between them but air as taut as a wire, air that seems to hum, where he wonders if she will kill him.
He has seen what it is like, a unicorn with her horn leveled, though he has never had such a blade pointed at his own heart. This creature, she is different than even Calliope - feral and strange, a wild bird he’s never seen before. Oh, and when has he ever hoped to tame such a girl? She is a storm and he is the sea and when two such things meet there is only fury.
And then he is touching her, and he forgets all of these things.
Instead there is only the scent of her, sweet-death and ozone, and the trembling of lightning caught. There is a little of that god-water that still trickles down her cheek from her wet and curling mane and this he tastes, and is surprised (and not at all surprised) to find it tastes of nothing at all.
When she speaks - yes - his eyes fall closed. It is relief that washes him then, that loosens his heart from where it had been a clenched fist in his chest. All at once the day is golden again, and warm.
Asterion sighs as her lips ghost across his own skin, and he forgets (foolish boy!) that she might yet hold his death in her eyes, whether she wants it or no. Now there are only his questions, numerous as the stars on his dusky skin, and how hungry he is to see himself the way she does, like somebody with answers.
“Tell me your name,” he whispers, “tell me what I am to call you.”
For Asterion knows, no matter what she is and what chill promises her eyes sing, what death clings to her and falls from her like drops of golden water, that he could never call her monster.
king of dusk.
@Thana
