Neverland is home to lost boys like me
and lost boys like me are free
More than anything, Fang is embarrassed by how easy it is for the fairy mare to read him. He can feel all of it—the pain screaming in his somber eyes, the grief that wails behind his fragile smile, the despair that clambers up from his wounded heart and into every line of his expression. “You do not need to try so hard…to smile,” Caelum says to him, with nothing but kindness in her voice, but there is a part of the boy that wants to laugh because he doesn’t want to try so hard. I’m tired of not smiling, his heart replies with a twisting thump-thump in his gaping chest.
He wills himself to relax, suddenly acutely aware of the muscles in his face, and tries to keep himself from appearing too concerned before their conversation, mercifully, goes on to change topic.
Caelum is visibly excited at the mention of her tea shop, which allows Fang’s focus to shift from himself. She even jokes with him, and so he is able to offer his first genuine chuckle in a long, long time; it feels raspy in his throat, but there is something familiar still. “I will have to take you up on that,” he says with the corners of his lips curling slightly, debating for half a moment about returning her playful wink—a lighthearted gesture he has done himself on many occasions—but quickly decides he is not ready for that yet. First, he needs to find his smile again.
For now, he settles for a fragile skew of his lips. “I appreciate your willingness to help me,” he nods his head, watching as the fairy mare alights nimbly on the ground to escort him through the city streets. But then— “Flowers?” Fang can’t help but murmur to himself, the word so soft that it goes unnoticed before they begin their journey. Sure enough, wherever she places her foot, there blooms a collect of flowers to grow in her wake. They are beautiful, dainty little things, and he can only imagine the wonder they must exude after their spontaneous beginning. Given his affinity towards plant life, due to the magic he once held, he is delighted by this little surprise, and finds himself glancing often at the small blossoms as they wander towards the heart of the city.
She is liberal in her sharing of knowledge, for which the stallion is grateful. Novus is made up of four courts: Day in Solterra, Dusk in Terrastella, Dawn in Delumine, and Night here in Denocte. His ember eyes trail slowly along the spires of the citadel, wondering if he will ever meet the queen Israfel, and hoping that she is as compassionate as Caelum describes.
Remembering the repercussions of greedy and selfish leaders, Fang’s mouth pinches briefly. His fiery eyes linger a moment longer on the citadel, his thoughts tangled in the past, before they snap suddenly towards the markets and landscapes that his guide is now describing. He is haunted still, but manages a meager smile when Caelum mentions home. “I usually prefer open lands to cities myself,” he agrees, wondering why here? Why had he woken up here, in the middle of Denocte, of all the possible places in Novus?
It echoes: why here? “The way you describe Denocte, it sounds extraordinary—magical, even. It’s always a relief to hear that people are happy here, especially across different kingdoms. I…think I could use some peace and quiet,” Fang attempts a crooked grin, a sliver of vulnerability that rages through the raw wounds of his grief.
Swallowing against the dryness of his throat, the boy shifts his eyes over the sprawling streets, over the people milling through them together in a way that is so effortless he wants to laugh and cry all at once. Inhaling a long breath, he returns his gaze to the fairy woman. “I heard mention of ‘Caligo’—is that the god of Novus? I know gods are more significant in some worlds than others… Is there more than one here?” He’s not sure what answer he is hoping to hear, knowing that he won’t get the one he wants. His goddess is gone.
Home is gone.
“Where I came from,” a sudden wrench of his heart at the words, and a sad smile before he is able to continue, “the gods gifted their people with sorcery. Is that how it works here too? Or were you born with this ability?” Fang gestures with his chin towards the flowers that have collected around her hooves, wondering if he will be able to restore the magic he has lost—and wondering if he wants to. What will it be like, if not gifted from Vasanta? His shoulders lower beneath the weight of his despair before he looks to Caelum again. He remembers being able to speak like she does, with such adoration for one’s homeland that it becomes contagious. “It is obvious that this place is dear to you,” he tilts his head, a warmth of nostalgia in his gaze, “How long have you lived here yourself?”
tag; @Caelum
“…”
He wills himself to relax, suddenly acutely aware of the muscles in his face, and tries to keep himself from appearing too concerned before their conversation, mercifully, goes on to change topic.
Caelum is visibly excited at the mention of her tea shop, which allows Fang’s focus to shift from himself. She even jokes with him, and so he is able to offer his first genuine chuckle in a long, long time; it feels raspy in his throat, but there is something familiar still. “I will have to take you up on that,” he says with the corners of his lips curling slightly, debating for half a moment about returning her playful wink—a lighthearted gesture he has done himself on many occasions—but quickly decides he is not ready for that yet. First, he needs to find his smile again.
For now, he settles for a fragile skew of his lips. “I appreciate your willingness to help me,” he nods his head, watching as the fairy mare alights nimbly on the ground to escort him through the city streets. But then— “Flowers?” Fang can’t help but murmur to himself, the word so soft that it goes unnoticed before they begin their journey. Sure enough, wherever she places her foot, there blooms a collect of flowers to grow in her wake. They are beautiful, dainty little things, and he can only imagine the wonder they must exude after their spontaneous beginning. Given his affinity towards plant life, due to the magic he once held, he is delighted by this little surprise, and finds himself glancing often at the small blossoms as they wander towards the heart of the city.
She is liberal in her sharing of knowledge, for which the stallion is grateful. Novus is made up of four courts: Day in Solterra, Dusk in Terrastella, Dawn in Delumine, and Night here in Denocte. His ember eyes trail slowly along the spires of the citadel, wondering if he will ever meet the queen Israfel, and hoping that she is as compassionate as Caelum describes.
Remembering the repercussions of greedy and selfish leaders, Fang’s mouth pinches briefly. His fiery eyes linger a moment longer on the citadel, his thoughts tangled in the past, before they snap suddenly towards the markets and landscapes that his guide is now describing. He is haunted still, but manages a meager smile when Caelum mentions home. “I usually prefer open lands to cities myself,” he agrees, wondering why here? Why had he woken up here, in the middle of Denocte, of all the possible places in Novus?
It echoes: why here? “The way you describe Denocte, it sounds extraordinary—magical, even. It’s always a relief to hear that people are happy here, especially across different kingdoms. I…think I could use some peace and quiet,” Fang attempts a crooked grin, a sliver of vulnerability that rages through the raw wounds of his grief.
Swallowing against the dryness of his throat, the boy shifts his eyes over the sprawling streets, over the people milling through them together in a way that is so effortless he wants to laugh and cry all at once. Inhaling a long breath, he returns his gaze to the fairy woman. “I heard mention of ‘Caligo’—is that the god of Novus? I know gods are more significant in some worlds than others… Is there more than one here?” He’s not sure what answer he is hoping to hear, knowing that he won’t get the one he wants. His goddess is gone.
Home is gone.
“Where I came from,” a sudden wrench of his heart at the words, and a sad smile before he is able to continue, “the gods gifted their people with sorcery. Is that how it works here too? Or were you born with this ability?” Fang gestures with his chin towards the flowers that have collected around her hooves, wondering if he will be able to restore the magic he has lost—and wondering if he wants to. What will it be like, if not gifted from Vasanta? His shoulders lower beneath the weight of his despair before he looks to Caelum again. He remembers being able to speak like she does, with such adoration for one’s homeland that it becomes contagious. “It is obvious that this place is dear to you,” he tilts his head, a warmth of nostalgia in his gaze, “How long have you lived here yourself?”
tag; @Caelum
“…”
Lost boys like me
are free.
are free.
please tag Fang in all replies; magic and force are permitted
