azrael
“Take a breath – let the world fall away.” Azrael steps from the shadows toward the mare of frenzied spirit and golden hair. In the darkness, there are only the two of them, away – away from the clatter of the world. Far in the mountains, the shed-star can kiss the heavens. Far from the light, his stars can shine, brighter than any bonfire, warmer than any cider which passed the lips. This is not to say that the celestial beast disapproves of such celebration though, for the Night Court needed to heal and to open the gates once more. It was time. Still, he strays to the fringes, alone… save for now.
Her breath is labored, a sheen of sweat sparkling in the stardust, the scent of fear - pungent and spicy lingering near. Regarding her coolly, Azrael steps closer again, reaching toward her golden frame with a comforting sort of gesture. He knows it is fear that grips her, and he does not press with an urgent mannerism. Instead, the old-world beast is simply a quiet beacon beside her, his voice steadily rhythmic and soothing, like water lapping against the hull of a ship. “Why do you steal away?” He asks. “Surely this is a night for dancing, for drinking… for debauchery even.” There is laughter which meets his eyes, the irony not lost on him – for Azrael too stayed far from the uproarious festival. It simply wasn’t his style.
He could ask a thousand questions more, but instead, he simply stands beside the mare and looks to the heavens. The summer wind is uncharacteristically chilled as it stings against him, tangling in his locks like a lover. Above them, the stars twinkle like a thousand tiny diamonds, and he watches them while reciting their names like old friends in his mind. Altair. Deneb. Vega. The glow of his coat washes them both with an otherworldly light, bringing an almost iridescent luster to his appearance, interrupted only by the fall of his dark mane. Like others in the tribe, Azrael’s appearance is a testament to the night – for the shed-stars are said to have descended from the heavens themselves – blessed by Caligo and torn from the sky to walk among men.
“What brings you to Caligo’s gates, if not the bonfires and the festival arch?” Was it yearning? Azrael understood what it was to yearn, to wish for something greater than oneself. Perhaps still, it was the allure of the stars, a love he knew all too well. She was welcome here of course, to this land of dreamers and performers. Still, the shed-star is as curious about the sunkissed girl, as she about the mountains and the midnight sky.
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