[P] eyes flecked with ash

[Antiope]

Antiope joins the Delumine sovereign amongst the pillows surrounding the table and fills two cups, already with tea bags resting in the bottom, with simmering water. She realizes, as she looks over the table and the steam, that she scarcely knows this man. She realizes how scarcely she knows any of Novus other than her own little corner of it.

Perhaps that is her own fault, for having never ventured beyond their borders before she got swept up into a war that was not hers (that thankfully did not come to pass) and a queen who felt like kinship and a land that felt like coming home.

She could have gone, at any time, and she should have gone. Even as Regent, even before. Now she is Queen and she is a stranger and a mystery to all these courts that she should have relationships with. Antiope can only hope it is not too late. “Isra only ever had hopes and possibilities in her heart for Denocte.”

The sovereign thinks of the day she had been made Regent, and so many other days. Isra, turning the court to fantasy with a simple brush of her magic. Isra, beseeching her people to build Denocte into everything it could be. “I never want us to stop reaching for the stars,” she says, blue eyes affixed on the man across from her.

It’s difficult to say whether the things Isra has gone off to fight are because of her dreams or her nightmares. She was sharper, before she left, blacker, like the god-forged blade of Antiope’s axe. Isra was going with vengeance in her. Can vengeance be born of dreams?

He is not the first to say such a thing to her, and Antiope is keenly reminded of her conversation with Morrighan when they had still been Regent and Warden. In the markets, on that moonstone carving. Again, she finds herself wishing for Isra’s eyes to see with. Or even Caligo’s, perhaps, to ease the burning feel upon her back.

“I can only hope that once we are more familiar with each other that you will still feel that way,” she responds, almost idly, almost without thought, “Though I have no intention of misplacing the trust she has in me.” The tea is fragrant, when she lifts her cup to take a sip of it. The smell lingers, even after it’s been placed upon the table again.

The pair are limned in warm light from the windows, watching each other with eyes that are sapphire and eyes that are rose. There is a galaxy above them, to reach toward, as Antiope finally says, “Will you tell me something about yourself, or about Delumine?” She hopes there will be plenty of time, plenty of chances, for them to talk politics at another time.

"Speaking."

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@Ipomoea

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