He can see the disbelief in her eyes - the hard-edged way she glances at him from the corner of one eye, as if he’s not worth a proper glance. Maybe, in another life, he might have cared. Perhaps he would have looked at her and felt something other than indifference for her dislike of him.
But Sirius has only ever known people who looked at him with less than disgust, and the sharp sting of his whips when he displeased them.
So he says nothing.
Instead he only watches her with his silver eyes bright and wide, staring at her back even when she turns away and seemingly tries to forget he exists. And as much as his wings begin to itch, and as his magic blinks sleepily awake inside of him, reacting with the magic that lingers still in the maze, he resists the urge to fly far, far away. Star dust is curling through the air like smoke, pressing hungrily in against the darkness of his skin. A comet flashes, white-hot and brilliant, before it is gone in an instant. And in that instant, Sirius thinks he knows how it feels to burn like a star.
He doesn’t answer the first of her questions; because he can’t find the words, because he doesn’t know what the Queen had felt, because he would rather speak the language of the stars than the language of Novus. He only drifts like someone lost around the center of the maze, listening to the crunch of the gemstones underhoof and the music the wind makes as it flows between sheets of metal.
“Do nothing, think I,” his voice is barely more than a whisper, fading even as the miniature galaxy he’s made begins to grow. It struggles, the stars throbbing in time with his heart beat, as if the frenzy of his blood is flowing directly into his magic. A wing takes shape for a second, fluttering once, twice, before it dissipates. The point of a sword - or is it a unicorn’s horn? - takes its place, rising to stab towards the sky before, it, too, fractures into a thousand tiny stars. An arrow shoots through the space separating them, but it breaks apart into dust before it reaches for Morrighan’s own heart.
“Better this way.”
The magic calls to him still, setting his blood aflame so that all his skin seems to tingle and itch. His limbs are trembling, and the stars are clustered so tightly around his form they seem to consume him. So Sirius lifts his eyes to Morrighan’s, not caring if she meets his gaze or not; there’s something quiet in his stare, something almost-solemn, as he pities her for being able to look on a scene wrought from passion and see it as nothing more than a “mess”.
He breathes in the magic of the maze; exhales stardust. A dozen paths reach outward from the center of the maze, and Sirius turns towards one without caring where it might take him. “Meet you nice it was, Morrighan, Warden of Night Court.” And then he’s gone, running between the long-stemmed metal and corn, feeling like the stardust in him, too, is all but ready to explode.
the sun watches what i do
but the moon
knows all my secrets
@morrighan !
