This cloudy morn
I threw your bones outside
A ritual
In the garden soil
Oh my love
I'll always come back to you
And oh, sweet heart
How long will you fight?
I threw your bones outside
A ritual
In the garden soil
Oh my love
I'll always come back to you
And oh, sweet heart
How long will you fight?
Vikander did not speak a single word during the meeting.
His eyes, pools of cold, merciless blue, stared hard at the new Sovereign with little care or desire to really interject his own opinions on the matter. Truly, so long as he could focus on his works, his studies, and his experiments without interruption by this new Queen, he really didn’t care what she did or how she ruled her Court.
This was, after all, just a place where he resided. It was not a home, not to him. It was useful. The markets permitted trades and access to rare and valuable goods otherwise unable to found within Novus, and so he hadn’t found it necessary to move on. Not yet. Not that he really could, even if he wanted to.
The halls of the Scarab remained protected, enchanted by his very own magics and abilities. His attic remained full, and until it was empty, Vikander would not be leaving Denocte.
Others spoke up, and an ebony ear flicked in idle interest as they broached their concerns, raising their voices to question this new Queen. He listened without truly caring, and spotted Caelum amongst the crowd. She was the first to really speak, and he huffed a single laugh in amusement at her brazen attitude. She certainly appeared to be a far cry from the wretched little fae-thing he had crossed paths with so many seasons ago.
From beneath the hood of his cloak, heavy and comforting, Vikander watched her. Even as she grew silent and stepped back, yet not complacent, simply waiting, the stallion watched. It was simply how he learned; why boast and posture and state your facts to be publicly known when you can keep your opinions and learnings to yourself, and use as leverage down the line? No, this meeting was not for him, and he showed it by keeping his mouth shut.
It was, however, an opportunity to learn… And so Vikander stood at the back of the gathering, watching with apathetic eyes as others came and went. A cloaked doe appeared, thinking herself sneaky, as though she wouldn’t be recognized, and the enchanter simply rolled his eyes. Melodromatics. He would send a messenger to inform the Lady Israfel later on of his findings. Denocte had no does, after all.
As the meeting progressed, he found his stare wandering once more to the fae lady for a brief moment before he settled back within himself once more. Apathetic. Uncaring. It was just better this way.
