Euphrosyne
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Darkness falls and Euphrosyne is convinced she could never be a child of the night.☙━-------━✿━-------━❧
There is a tremor in her body that will not leave her, a wild-eyed sense of terror that seems to worry it’s way deeper into her heart. She had wanted to come to the markets to find something, but what she was looking for she couldn’t quite say. There were too many wants, too many things that had rattled her mind as of late and she had just wanted to feel the gratification of something new but coming to the Night Markets by herself felt more like a mistake then it did an exciting adventure.
She was not used to traveling the world without an escort. She had tried to put on a brave face when she had stepped onto Terrsatellan soil. She knew that her fear had betrayed her that day; there had been pity lining the edges of Raglan’s expression when he had approached, and again later when she had met him in Susurro Fields. She could see the sympathy written on Marisol’s face when she had met her at the Midwinter Festival, alone and without guidance. She was comfortable with pity. She was familiar with fear.
She was not accustomed to the freedom. It had sparked something wild and exhilarating at first. But now, as she watched the thrumming bodies close in around her, she was filled with dread. There was shouting from somewhere behind her. Prospective customers pushed her out of their way to get closer to the jewelry on display. Merchants reached out to touch her with greedy fingers, tugging on the delicate feathers of her wings for attention. Smoke clung to the air, music filled the space that conversation didn’t, and all at once she felt trapped.
But the quick flash of a silver hide catches her attention and she is filled with curiosity instead of fear. The man is pale, bent in devotion at the altar of Denocte’s goddess, the song of prayer thick in the air and sweet on his lips. The flickering light from the dimly lit candles casting shadows across his face. She has never met anyone pious, for surely the men that had occupied her days at the House were not men of reverence. It draws her in like a moth to a flame. She wonders what fills those moon-bright eyes with trepidation. Or is it repentance?
He moves on from the altar of Night’s goddess, soft tendrils of shadows encircling all that he touches, billowing behind him like a veil. She trails him like his shadows; watching him part the crowds easily and trying to follow suit. The moonlight has made him look ethereal, ghost-like in the dim light of Caligo’s embrace. There was no reason for her to find him, no logical explanation for her pull towards this man. But she follows him, until at last he stops at the heart of Denocte.
She shivers next to him, the feathers of her wings gently quivering. Fear climbs its way back into her throat. “Do you feel lost too?” Her voice feels frail and thin in comparison to the heft of his prayer.
“speech”
and I guess I don't mind drowning in him
@Tenebrae
