Andras Demyan
"All you want to do is dance out of your skin into another song not quite about heroes, but still a song where you can lift your spear and say 'yes' as it flashes."
"All you want to do is dance out of your skin into another song not quite about heroes, but still a song where you can lift your spear and say 'yes' as it flashes."
Andras wonders if she can see her own unease reflected in his glasses. He wonders if she knows that she looks like him - drawn in sharp lines and a smile so thin it can hardly be said to be a smile at all. Corrdelia begins to speak and Andras listens in polite silence, teeth closed tight around his tongue. His shoulders ache.
(I cannot imagine being an empath in Andras' company - he is all screaming hellfire and the crackle of electricity, all bricked-up pits full of clawing rage that dig at the grout and the stone day in and day out. And here he is, the firm line of his mouth softer now, not a smile but something less than the deep scowl he had been wearing... and it does not look like that bottomless anger at all.)
"That would be over there," he says, unfolding one black wing, the one with a shock of white at the elbow, to point up a shallow staircase and a terrace hung in soft red fabric, where a wall of shelves holds neatly placed books and parchment so old that it seems they might crumble to ash for their looking - and on its railing, one of the creatures is perched with a stack of books, filing them away.
Andras follows her wordlessly, listening to only the dark thrum of his heart and the off-beat click of their hooves against the floor and against the walls.
Crow witch and resident psychic of Terrastella. In spite of himself, in spite of the immeasurable weight of his singing heart, Andras smiles. It is one of those rare, genuine smiles that he buries in trying to slide a book off the shelf without displacing any of the others. "That's quite the mouthful," he says, turning it in his grip, examining the bent spine and the tattered binding. The cover reads Old Gods in Old Stories in print that was probably one black but now looks like a dusty brown. He does not miss the creature glaring at him from the railing, as if to say, then you do it.
"This might be what you're looking for. Or, part of it." Andras says, offering the book to Corrdelia. "I'm Andras. Just Warden."
(I cannot imagine being an empath in Andras' company - he is all screaming hellfire and the crackle of electricity, all bricked-up pits full of clawing rage that dig at the grout and the stone day in and day out. And here he is, the firm line of his mouth softer now, not a smile but something less than the deep scowl he had been wearing... and it does not look like that bottomless anger at all.)
"That would be over there," he says, unfolding one black wing, the one with a shock of white at the elbow, to point up a shallow staircase and a terrace hung in soft red fabric, where a wall of shelves holds neatly placed books and parchment so old that it seems they might crumble to ash for their looking - and on its railing, one of the creatures is perched with a stack of books, filing them away.
Andras follows her wordlessly, listening to only the dark thrum of his heart and the off-beat click of their hooves against the floor and against the walls.
Crow witch and resident psychic of Terrastella. In spite of himself, in spite of the immeasurable weight of his singing heart, Andras smiles. It is one of those rare, genuine smiles that he buries in trying to slide a book off the shelf without displacing any of the others. "That's quite the mouthful," he says, turning it in his grip, examining the bent spine and the tattered binding. The cover reads Old Gods in Old Stories in print that was probably one black but now looks like a dusty brown. He does not miss the creature glaring at him from the railing, as if to say, then you do it.
"This might be what you're looking for. Or, part of it." Andras says, offering the book to Corrdelia. "I'm Andras. Just Warden."
@corrdelia
they made you into a weapon
and told you to find peace.
