This keening soul;
He is red and silver. The red snow lies like petals along his spine. They are blood red droplets that do not melt nor darken the moonlight of his flesh.
This strange sea-boy might be the only thing here that remembers what the moon should be. Not even the moon recalls who she should be as she hangs, pregnant and crimson, in the black night sky. Leto would watch her, if her gaze was not trailing along the curve of his lips. On and on that bow of his mouth goes. Up and up toward the slant of his jaw. Leto blinks, slow, slow, but enough to clear the gathering blood-snow upon her lashes. Enough to try and see more clearly whether that is the line of his too long lips or simply a shadowed angle of his face.
The closer she leans, eyes upon lips, mane upon skin as slick as sea-froth, the greater the draw that claws her in. And the louder her blood sings, a shrill and echoing whale-song of danger! Danger!. Only when a speck of crimson snow settles like a ruby in the corner of his too-long-lips does she sway away at last.
He is smiling at her brazen pose, at the tilt of her chin. The touch of his eyes is iceberg sharp and she the great ship too clumsy to turn fast. Ah! He makes her slow, as if drunk upon his poison, drunk upon the winter solstice moon. Her bells chime their warning, they no longer peel in merry lullabies but clang like blades meeting beneath the sea. Her eyes shut with their final clang and all is silent and all of her is full of salt-water.
His breath upon her skin is the wash of the tide and her eyes open to gaze upon the blood moon. There is a song within her ears and it is the sound of a shell’s lilting song – it is the sound of Amaroq’s horn splitting air and bending close, close to her skin and to her heart. His smile is teeth upon her torso, his words are seaweed wrapping about her limbs, pulling her deeper, deeper.
Slowly she lowers her gaze from the moon. Silver and bright it falls like a star until it settles upon his eyes. There she holds him and where sea-weed holds her, so she binds him up in vines. Her cheek is scant millimeters from his, the air warm as a hearth between them. “Yes.” Leto answers, honest and bold, for she is satisfied. Her sigils glow and a new star falls, it tumbles like an angel cursed. It burns through snow and smoke, ice and moonlight. It strikes the earth and star-fire blooms marking her turn to smile. “Are you?” She asks with eyes that challenge, with a heart that wonders, wonders, wonders. “If you have come hungering,” She whispers in a song of galaxies and bones, “then this is not your night, kelpie.” For what did she have to fear when the sea is so far from her this eve?
@Amaroq | "speaks" | notes: table 2/2!! this was super fun to make
