i tasted shadow long before i ever knew the light.
Silk over sand, shadows over cobbled streets, he is the moon and night sky, a shooting star given flesh to walk as a mortal among men. Golden feet ring over the cobbled paths of the Night Market. Alecto breathes in, he breathes out, he moves to the rhythm of the world around him. This is a place for magic and mystery, a place for thieves and opportunity. For one such as he, an enigma as much as he is a man, it is a place to become a mayfly. One who lives for just a night before dying.
Over and over.
Again and again.
One night, he shares stories out of the dark alleys to awe and amaze, and then he's never seen like that again. Weeks later, someone whose voice is similar, but different enough that it seems a different person, appears along the riverside, laughing and flirting until the men and women in his company are too drunk on wine and berries, on the high of life, to remember anything more than the whisper of flesh against flesh in the dark of the night.
Now, he comes forth again. As much a ghost as every other night, and still enough of a spectacle to draw the eye, to draw attention. Eyes follow down his throat, to the faint tinkling of the ring around his neck. For a moment, he pauses long enough in a shop to grab a tea. There, he sips and thinks. Sips...and thinks.
