She shields her eyes against the lion’s sudden bloom, white lashes coming together, head turning away until the sudden shift from utter darkness settles and she can, once again, take in the lit mausoleum. She sighs, shifting uncomfortably, eyeing with wary curiosity the leonine figure as it examines the crystal casket upon its stone bier. She wants, desperately, to ask them what it is. What it secrets away inside – who... But she stifles it against her breast and takes a tentative step towards them, her long, hastily braided hair making snake-trails in the dust. She doesn’t want to pry, to offend – perhaps, she doesn’t want to know herself. But, what conjures in the absence of knowing is twisted and horrible. Spires of ribcage, rivers of vertebrae, the thin, dry leather of old skin stretched between…
Something trimmed in gold and jewels, for surely whoever rests within was once important.
She nods at the man, her soft, pensive eyes shifting to him, golden and inlaid with tattoos of burnished silver, catching the lion’s light as he shifts on whist paws. “I understand,” a small, wistful smile tilts the swart corners of her lips, gaze trailing back for a moment to the lion. He almost reminds her of someone. Of someone past. Long gone. Forgotten, but not truly, for somethings – like this unearthed catacomb – cannot be misplaced so easily. But they can be buried. Buried deep, under leagues of sand and time and hurt; laid to rest in coffers of crystal and repression.
“Strange, indeed,” Stellanor tilts her head slightly, Orestes, “it’s nice to meet you, even under… strange circumstances. My name is Stellanor. I must admit, I followed you here,” not like her – not unlike her, either, for she has always been the inquisitive sort; it just normally would not find her trailing two strangers down a dark abyss. Strange, indeed. “I’m not from Novus, I only just arrived, really. I was getting the lay of the land and found myself in the desert.” She supposes it has a name, as Denocte has a name. Just as of yet, it is a land uncharted. “I suppose… well, this place has a sort of draw.” She pinches her lip between her teeth, lets it go and chews the insides of her cheeks.
Thoughtful habits die hard.
“What is this place?” she exhales, feels the shift of spirits. Disembodied, gaunt, long abandoned in the slip of sand down hourglass curves and she must wonder what that feels like. To be lapsed.
Something trimmed in gold and jewels, for surely whoever rests within was once important.
She nods at the man, her soft, pensive eyes shifting to him, golden and inlaid with tattoos of burnished silver, catching the lion’s light as he shifts on whist paws. “I understand,” a small, wistful smile tilts the swart corners of her lips, gaze trailing back for a moment to the lion. He almost reminds her of someone. Of someone past. Long gone. Forgotten, but not truly, for somethings – like this unearthed catacomb – cannot be misplaced so easily. But they can be buried. Buried deep, under leagues of sand and time and hurt; laid to rest in coffers of crystal and repression.
“Strange, indeed,” Stellanor tilts her head slightly, Orestes, “it’s nice to meet you, even under… strange circumstances. My name is Stellanor. I must admit, I followed you here,” not like her – not unlike her, either, for she has always been the inquisitive sort; it just normally would not find her trailing two strangers down a dark abyss. Strange, indeed. “I’m not from Novus, I only just arrived, really. I was getting the lay of the land and found myself in the desert.” She supposes it has a name, as Denocte has a name. Just as of yet, it is a land uncharted. “I suppose… well, this place has a sort of draw.” She pinches her lip between her teeth, lets it go and chews the insides of her cheeks.
Thoughtful habits die hard.
“What is this place?” she exhales, feels the shift of spirits. Disembodied, gaunt, long abandoned in the slip of sand down hourglass curves and she must wonder what that feels like. To be lapsed.
@Orestes
☽
