[AW] kindling in my soul;

[Acton]

Acton these violent delights have violent ends It was the kind of storm that was only born at the death of summer; the sky was an ominous band to the west, lightning flickering low and mean, the air too humid for this late in the season. There was no question that a cool front would sweep in behind it, coaxing the leaves to color and drop, breathing frost on the plains.   Acton didn’t mind autumn, but he intended to give this last behemoth storm the audience it deserved.    He was not different than much of the Night Court in his love for storms. But the buckskin found more muse in them than most. In each hungry fork of lightning and each groaning rumble of thunder he found inspiration. To be able to hold others in thrall the way a storm did, or to cause such a dramatic scene – ah! He loved each mighty crash, especially the ones that shook the world to its bones. Acton could feel the reverberations of those moments echoed in his heart.   This one he watched from a parapet walk, careless of the consequences of watching a storm roll in from one of the highest places for miles. If he was struck by lightning and lived, he’d consider it a blessing – if he died, well, he deserved worse than to go in such glorious fashion.   For the moment, all was quiet. No rain had reached the castle yet; the air was still and thick, clinging to his skin like damp rags. His raven-dark hair curled in the humidity as he stood, a perfect counterpart to the momentary stillness. Acton was a livewire, blood humming, every nerve alive, alive, alive, eyes wild and going white-rimmed. His heart leapt with each distant flicker of lightning, each promise of the storm.   He was only utterly himself in moments like this.   So absorbed was he in the coming tempest that he did not notice the moment when he was no longer alone.  @Lavinia and anyone else who wants to come say hi to the magician crow.