azrael
There is such hope in the golden girl’s eyes – wide and blue as the sea. If the eyes were windows to the soul, then her being was as pure as the summer sky, Azrael decided, even as he swallowed down the feeling of butterflies leaping within his chest as her gaze finds his once more. The pull of attraction was fierce, and yet the shed-star was a creature of restraint and calm, pushing away his own baser instincts as he focused instead on her questions. It was refreshing to hear such interest in his stars, for there was nothing the stallion loved more.
“I cannot miss the stars, for they are with me always. Even when I cannot see them, whether they are drowned by the sun or hidden by clouds, I know them. All I have to do is close my eyes, and dream of the starry night.” She could not know how true this statement was, for more than just a shed-star, Azrael was a magician. He was called a Dream Walker by the People – one who manipulates dreams. In his own, Azrael could take an active role, changing the circumstances and outcome through his decisions and whims.
“But I cannot help but wonder what they see – when they shine on places far from here. What curiosities the world might hold, beyond our plane of understanding”. It was something he thought of often, the marvel of what lies beyond. Beyond the mountains, Caligo’s lands, and even Novus itself. He shivers at the wonder of it all, noting for the first time the chill that came from the mountain air. His own breath was sheer now against the cold, and he steps closer still to Elena, warm to the touch as his light spreads to wash over her too. For the light which shines upon him is one borne of the stars, blessed by Caligo herself. It is the glow of a fallen star which possesses him, building in strength as the night wears on.
There is a peace to the easy quiet between them, as his turquoise eyes filter over the constellations one by one, then back to her again. As she mentions the gift of star-speaking, he offers a smile once more. “There are those who can talk with the stars – the priestesses of Caligo. They can read the messages, transcribe them to the People, foretell what is to come. He stops, something akin to sorrow flashing briefly in his eyes, as he remembers the fateful words of the star-speakers.
“It is true,” he whispers sadly, “But not everyone understands or even believes.” Pacing slowly from side to side, the vision of his homeland plays out in his memories. “The shed-stars came to Denocte when our land was destroyed by dragon fire. The stars knew, of course, that our end was inevitable. The star-speakers even told the People what would come… but not everyone believed their words.” Those who hadn’t – those who had defied the caravan as it moved down the mountain, had perished in that place – faces trained skyward as they blinked their last look at the very sky which had tried to warn them.
“We would do well to heed when they speak,” he offers, “to be receptive to their message. Perhaps their secrets are around us all the time, if only we were to listen.”
“But nevermind that now, dear Elena…” his voice is quieter now, gentle and warm once more as the warning fades away. “Tonight, the stars speak of brighter things – of hope, of warmth, of new beginnings.” What else would Denocte’s festival be for, if not for a symbol of rebirth. “Where will you go, when the stars fade to morning?”
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