there is no turning back a reversed name; a reversed curse. i will follow you to the depths of the sea, to the cold caves and caverns where the sun does not shine and iridescence rules.
King Orestes. Please, the gates are always open for a reason, my hearth is your’s.
Orestes stands across from a man who he should consider nothing but a stranger and, perhaps, a competitor. And yet those words, light as the birds in the trees, speak to him on a deeper level. There is a moment he wants to ask, do you feel it too?
And it does not mean the sun on their backs, or the duty in their hearts.
It is the way sovereignty crushes him. It is in the way Ipomoea’s words echo eerily now, "Now I’m fettered to the same sense of duty as you. Emissary, Regent, now Sovereign; all we can do is give all that we are so that we might leave this world better than how we found it. We belong to our people now, you to Day, and I to Dawn."
Orestes wants to ask, and how much can we give until it is too much?
Orestes wants to ask, how much can we give until our blood is spilling out?
He doesn’t.
He smiles a polite smile. “Thank you. I appreciate your gracious offer. I only wish to acquaint myself with your Court. I have yet to visit and thought, perhaps, there would be no better time than the spring. I would greatly appreciate a tour.” Orestes finds it difficult to believe the man with winged ankles had once confessed his life story included the tales of an orphan, a beggar, a wanderer. Looking at him, Orestes sees none of those things. He sees a man of proper courtly etiquette and for some reason that leaves a bitter taste on Orestes’s tongue.
Still he smiles.
Still he says, “I admire the beauty of Delumine.”
There is more Orestes wishes to say, but as they begin to walk he finds the words do not come easily. Ariel wanders at a distance behind the two Sovereigns, silent, observant. Orestes can feel the lion’s unnerving stare. He wonders if when he thinks of Ipomoea he will always remember prickly pear jam; if he will feel a kinship related solely to their shared roles of Sovereigns.
“Having lived in both places, what would you say the merits are, between Delumine and Solterra?” Orestes means it conversationally. But it is difficult for him to admire the greenery without a hint of envy; without the prevailing thought life must be easier for those who do not have to pray for rain.
"Speaking." || @Ipomoea
Orestes stands across from a man who he should consider nothing but a stranger and, perhaps, a competitor. And yet those words, light as the birds in the trees, speak to him on a deeper level. There is a moment he wants to ask, do you feel it too?
And it does not mean the sun on their backs, or the duty in their hearts.
It is the way sovereignty crushes him. It is in the way Ipomoea’s words echo eerily now, "Now I’m fettered to the same sense of duty as you. Emissary, Regent, now Sovereign; all we can do is give all that we are so that we might leave this world better than how we found it. We belong to our people now, you to Day, and I to Dawn."
Orestes wants to ask, and how much can we give until it is too much?
Orestes wants to ask, how much can we give until our blood is spilling out?
He doesn’t.
He smiles a polite smile. “Thank you. I appreciate your gracious offer. I only wish to acquaint myself with your Court. I have yet to visit and thought, perhaps, there would be no better time than the spring. I would greatly appreciate a tour.” Orestes finds it difficult to believe the man with winged ankles had once confessed his life story included the tales of an orphan, a beggar, a wanderer. Looking at him, Orestes sees none of those things. He sees a man of proper courtly etiquette and for some reason that leaves a bitter taste on Orestes’s tongue.
Still he smiles.
Still he says, “I admire the beauty of Delumine.”
There is more Orestes wishes to say, but as they begin to walk he finds the words do not come easily. Ariel wanders at a distance behind the two Sovereigns, silent, observant. Orestes can feel the lion’s unnerving stare. He wonders if when he thinks of Ipomoea he will always remember prickly pear jam; if he will feel a kinship related solely to their shared roles of Sovereigns.
“Having lived in both places, what would you say the merits are, between Delumine and Solterra?” Orestes means it conversationally. But it is difficult for him to admire the greenery without a hint of envy; without the prevailing thought life must be easier for those who do not have to pray for rain.
