two lovers went hand in hand;
"It is a lucky thing, to be loved,” she mourns aloud, letting the sorrow show, letting her heartache bleed louder. Eik is never far from crimson thoughts, staining the pages red with dreams and smiles and anger. Even their petty argument, her stubborn ways, could not shatter the bridges built between them, the crops of friendship so carefully sowed. For that she is grateful, and kind eyes smile through the clouds of thoughts and pensive circulations. "I do not envy you, nor her, but love you both the same. You show warmth where I’ve seen coldness blossom and bloom growing up. Ice crystals hang as chandeliers of Tonnerre souls and only the loveliest carvers could ever win the heart of one.” She sighs as she remembers marriages for duty, not for love. Anselme was lucky in his being a favorite child, even if his own was an abomination of genetic muddling. "We do not marry for desire nor love nor passion, there is careful calculation and duty and an ever raging war for power and ambitions that far exceed some ranks. It is an unspoken stain upon all our skin, but still it sits there like mud on white cloth: impossible to miss.
”Thank you, Eik, for loving her and being loved.” Dark lips press to pale cheek, gratitude and depthless levels of adoration, love, friendship and trust lapping at each other, begging to let him see, let him know. For the phoenix would never have let herself burn as she does now without having met a pale man in the midst of insomnia and adventures. Warm eyes follow his own as they withdraw, turn inward to think. What is it he thinks so deeply of when withholding the splendor of himself from the world?
Silence is thick and heavy between them, but when he is ready and looks to her once more, solemnity a vow upon his tongue, sobriety a collar about his throat, grave as death itself, she listens. Ears tip forward, head tilts as Neerja’s might when observing someone who is not friend, but prey and terribly interesting.
Like that his words are there and gone, and they are walking again as a blush rises to her cheeks. "Denocte is not a place that wears fear well; Isra’s love unites us into something more than we are. I had very little to do with it - without me, things would have continued marching forward beside Time. My presence and absence does not affect the court so greatly.” Soft is her admission, for she feels like she could to more, should do more.
When is the last time she’d gone to the pier and talked with the sailors coming in to sell their wares and offer up fish? When last did she dance through the markets or sulk through the libraries? Too long has she been absent, and it is a heavy stone upon her shoulders. "I would die for Isra, just as any would of our court.”
notes: ;u; Eik is phenomenal and inspiring as always ! <3
