In the inky darkness of the night he watched, eyeing the rolling waves as they poured onto the sand one by one, over and over. He had left Denocte for a brief venture into the night - a brief venture that had turned... longer than expected. He had underestimated the draw of a starless sky, the wrap of shadows around his mahogany skin turning him into a cloaked stranger in the night, unseen and unknown. Now overlooking the ocean on the cliffside, the Night King felt the shackles of his carefree responsibilities loosening and falling to the sand, the wind running affectionate fingers through his ebony curls.
The Terminus played a melodic background to his vigil and the moon, hidden behind a thick layer of clouds, shone dully across their mountainous surface. He felt utterly wild, a raging sea of untameable passions roiling underneath his still skin, silver eyes darting over the ocean as if they couldn't settle on a single wave. He thought of Florentine. He thought of Aislinn. He even thought of Sparrow, her silver hair vanishing into Denocte's bustling heart. They moved him, animated him enough to launch into a gallop, throwing himself toward the waters edge like a shadowy spear through the night. His coins sang an erratic tune, bouncing off of his muscular shoulders and tangling in his hair, the one piece of evidence that his mother had loved him, if even just a little.
He crashed into the waves, instantly slick and soaked up to his chest. The sharp bite of seawater forced a grin from his black lips - it was something a little desperate, a little off-kilter. The Night King was close to being dangerous when the light was so absent, writhing in whatever hot mess he had underneath his bones. A sigh was drawn from his lips, agitated, vital and bursting with energy as the movement of the water stroked the lines of his muscular body.
Tonight would be an alluring and unstable evening to stand beside the King of Thieves.
