[P] To tell you the truth

[Isorath]

I S O R A T H — and I sank beneath the amorous sadness of night. Once more it's another night in the library, surrounded by soft candle light and the rich smell of ink and ancient tomes. The flames flicker off the stone walls and paint everything in a soft and comforting glow, soothing troubled minds and worried hearts with the promise of escape in the books that find a home within. Tonight, the smell of ink and parchment, like most nights since the Terrastellan had come to call Denocte home, is accompanied by the smell of lavender and vanilla. Tea smoke fluttered out of the open window by the desk he often lay near, the ornate pot roosting on it's burner like a dragon upon it's jewels. Uncharacteristically, the Sage is absent from the plush pillows and richly embroidered blankets, creating an angry wound in an otherwise ethereal canvas. Instead, the sage moved through the dark wood and stone, past his favorite books and those that he had not ran his lilac gaze over. Wrapped in one of the blankets painted in constellations and fantastical beasts of myth and legend, his starlight hair barely pinned into a singular braid, he is relaxed and somber at this hour. Near silent on porcelain hooves until he settled to lean against the archway to Araxes usual haunt within. "Araxes," He began and then paused, as if he was unsure about his next words. Isorath is not the type to openly care, his more tender emotions are locked behind a cage of thorns and ice. His care reserved for those who have managed to scale the frosty walls and brambled edges. Yet the champion has been a quiet but constant presence night after night, as they sit in opposite ends of the libraries absorbed in their work, and she is a part of the Court which has welcomed him openly and without suspicion. If anything, he owes her this, as he regarded her injured frame with veiled concern. "Would you like some tea?" TAG: @Araxes NOTES: "this here is your speech colour!