FIRE-LIT, HALF SILHOUETTE AND HALF MYTH, THE WOLF CIRCLES MY PAST, TREADING THE LEAVES INTO A BED TILL HE SLEEPS, BLACK SNOUT ON EXTENDED PAWS. BLACK SNOUT ON SULPHUR BODY, HE NUDGED HIS WAY INTO MY CONSCIOUSNESS. THERE IS NOTHING THAT WON'T BE LIT UP IN THE DARK TORCH OF HIS EYES.
Orestes watches her admire Solterra The only word that comes to mind when he sees the mare hit by sunlight, standing in a garden bubbling with sound and life, is vivacious. Antiope possesses a vitality he would find strange, if not accustomed to magic and immortality.
Perhaps you are not looking in the right places for beauty, she says. Orestes cannot help but smile; her words remind him of the greater truth of himself, the optimism that he had once held to his heart so inherently. A love of beauty. A love of brightness. He says nothing but his smile says what his words don’t: you’re right.
What you are doing for them, after everything they’ve been through. The queen has thoroughly surprised him. Orestes holds her gaze, but briefly. “It’s what I was born for.” He says it without arrogance; it is a quiet, contemplative belief, one spoken like a prayer. And what he means is, it’s my penance. There is no other reason he would have been able to walk through Solis's flames, if not with the proclamation of, let me burn.
But with comment, it is not difficult for Orestes to realise he has grown to love Solterra fiercely. He has grown to love it with pride. In so many ways it is opposite of his life before, and that is the precise reason he can hold it in his heart. They move on, further into the city.
“This time?” Orestes questions. He arches his brow, catching the comment. He has heard rumours of Denocte’s new queen being immortal, being a goddess of sorts. But he does his best not to trust such rumours and, anyway, he recognises the sentiment. This time.
He realises he has not been living this last chance with as much attention as he should be.
Orestes stores that thought away for later, however. “I see.” Orestes remembers Isra. He remembers feeling her anger in the air like so many hornets buzzing, buzzing, buzzing. He remembers seeing her in a moon-soaked night transforming a maze into all sort of terrible magics. Orestes remembers telling her, Perhaps, if the mood takes you, you can even transform me into a monster to defeat, to fight, to gnash your teeth at. I do not want to be a monster, but that is what I will be if that is what you need. In saying he, he remembers thinking, she belongs to the sea. Orestes is glad to hear it has welcomed her, and more glad still to think she may have found another monster to fight after all. Almost as an afterthought Orestes adds, “I hope she makes peace.” With herself. In the land she chooses to inhabit.
Orestes pauses for the next aspect of their conversation. He turns to hold Antiope’s eyes again. In the sun, his skin radiates light; it is easy to mistake it for a reflection, but it is not, it pours from him as if radiating from a fire, from a subtle star.
“I would like that very much, Queen of Denocte.” He laughs, soft. Charmingly. “Although I must admit, my people are hard to get to know. I am still doing it myself.” He respects her for her boldness, for her initiative, for opening Denocte’s borders. “I will be a little easier to know, I think.”
The entire time Orestes has been leading them toward the centre of the court; a fountain bubbles there, too, and in the light children play a game of chase around it. Vendors are open, and selling wares. Some stop and whisper, or gesture a greeting toward the Sovereign and his guest; many recognise Antiope, with her distinctive red markings and stripes.
“I am a foreigner. The rumours tell me you are, as well? Where do you come from?” Orestes has always believed to know someone, you must first understand where they have come from, what circumstance has built them.
@Antiope || “speech”
"THE WOLVES HAVE
BEEN SLAUGHTERED
NOW, A HEDGE OF
SMOKING GUN BARRELS
RINGS MY DAUGHTERS
DREAMS"
BEEN SLAUGHTERED
NOW, A HEDGE OF
SMOKING GUN BARRELS
RINGS MY DAUGHTERS
DREAMS"
