A set of eyes had pinned him,
became his version of a kingdom.
She's everything the devil can't be,
when she's singing to me, 'glory'.
became his version of a kingdom.
She's everything the devil can't be,
when she's singing to me, 'glory'.
Israfel wondered, but for a quick moment, just how long Michael must have been standing there among the beach and ocean spray to not carry the stench of Denocte upon him. Once the citizens of the Night Court stank like jasmine incense and heady perfumes, but that might have changed in the seasons since the new Queen’s ascension. Instead, he smelled of sun and sea breeze, salt and brine, and for some strange reason she knew that even if she asked him how long he had been out there, he might not be able to give her an answer.
Odd. Michael seemed strangely befuddled, as though he was present, yet not.
Leaving Solaris to glide and arc elegantly through the sunlit air and dance upon the ocean breeze, the Sun Daughter directed her gaze to the golden skinned man and his curtain of alabaster hair. She stood at attention, slender ivory shoulders rolled back, and arched a brow at his return in inquiry. Was this the game they were to play? Very well.
“Terrastella,” she answered sensually, rose-kissed lips twisting upwards in a knowing, tactile sort of grin, the rubies of her eyes glittering mischievously in the light of the day, “The Dusk Court. We’re neighbors.” Technically all of the courts were neighbors in one way or another, despite the sparse pocks of land interrupting the borders of each solar province.
A petite ear tipped forward, her grin slowly fading but not entirely leaving her face. There was a look of genuine curiosity upon her face now, true and honest despite the banter carried easily in her tone. This man was not like Ulric, who could take her words, fuck with them, and toss them back at her in jest and games. Michael was far more meek, and while she understood that much about him, there was something else, something far deeper than what he was exhibiting to the world. A defense mechanism, perhaps? Maybe he himself did not know.
The look of intrigue was replaced once more, and the Warden’s pretty face turned towards the churning waves and whitecaps of the ocean, letting her gaze get lost tracing the contours of the horizon where ocean met sky. She was not unaware of how Michael, in his gold and snow-white glory shifted uncertainty beside her, as though troubled by her proximity but quite uncertain what to do about it. “I won’t pry into your private life, Michael. That would be rude.” Even though it hadn’t stopped her with a certain Warden of Delumine, but, ah. Semantics. Israfel went on, letting her body shift as the hair whipped around her face from the breeze of salt and brine. “So let’s start easy; what’s your favorite color?”
An innocent question, but one strangely profound. There was a lot you could learn from someone by the most simple of details, after all, and Israfel was slowly learning how to do just that.
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