A I S L I N N
THE STORMS WE CHASE ARE LEADING US
AND LOVE IS ALL WE'LL EVER TRUST -
AND LOVE IS ALL WE'LL EVER TRUST -
She comes when evening tolls — each strike of the clock ringing long and slow. The sky weeps in Vespera's watercolors; wisps murmur midsummer and noon, when the rest of the world still slumbers in winter. She cannot help but marvel at those skies, and the contradiction of the cold that holds her and the defiant sunset above. Where winter's kiss touches the earth, grey and white follows in a thick blanket of snow and frost. The ice that coats each surface glimmers and reflects the colors in the sky. Like a mirror of crystalline glass that steals her breath away.
On this night, the city's heart sings to her. The pyres that flicker under the setting sun reach towards the stars; the fray of dancers that celebrate the end of winter's hold, and with it, the coming of spring. A desire burns in her — a flame of brightest blue that kindles, a twin to the gems of her eyes. Confined in the capitol, she stands at the edge of the shadow's reach as the sun slips and slips and slips. Her gaze is captured by the dancing reflections and embers that float in the frigid air. The drums are fingers beating against her skin, in tune with the rhythm of her wild heart. For her gypsy soul yearns to be free; to let loose under the colorful sky and not cease until dawn breaks on a far away horizon.
But she does not dance.. not yet. Not without him.
The memories of him are her only saving grace; a beacon of warmth that brings with it a comfort that swells in her chest, and a sharp pang that strikes in her gut. She never forgot the fireflies that swirled around them in golden pixie dust, or the gauze of daydreams that flirted with the deep mahogany of his skin. And oh, she could never forget his eyes. The depths of them a sweet calm that stops her heart with want. The shining star tattooed behind her ear still tingles with the imprint of his kiss, and his voice forming her name is a memory that she follows. Through the streets, her hoofbeats build and build, forever searching the crowds for her twilight prince.
Yet, upon her return, the stormsinger did not find him first. Her mouth tastes of ash and dust, and suddenly, she stops. Hesitating. What will he think of her? She cannot soon forget that the last time they spoke.. she ran. Another festival, much like the one she revels in now, but with lower stakes than this. Aislinn had been a coward for her bleeding heart; a wicked, broken thing that had not yet properly healed. He was a testament of that; for he alone sewed the strings of her heart back together, whether he knew it to be so or not. Where she was a hurricane made woman, he was the calm to her untamed storm.
So why had she not found him? After so many moons apart?
She is Calligo's night sky beneath the setting sun. Where once, galaxies swam in the blue of her eyes, are now painted along the curves of her frame. In deep violet and dusty rose and ivory there are stars that swirl down the length of her spine and across the ink of her coat. But she does not feel like those stars, as beautiful and full of havoc and chaos and dreams. She desires to.. to wish, and to live in a faerie tale with him and her. But this is not a children's story, and she is a warrior who's knuckles have tasted blood and who's heart sings a different song. So she stands, and waits, with a heaviness like a world that sits upon the back of her wings. Her hooves are frosted still, and the breath that fills her lungs is filled with glass.
Her lips cannot help but form his name, over and over again, as she silently calls into the crowds that pulse around her.
Asterion. I'm home.
On this night, the city's heart sings to her. The pyres that flicker under the setting sun reach towards the stars; the fray of dancers that celebrate the end of winter's hold, and with it, the coming of spring. A desire burns in her — a flame of brightest blue that kindles, a twin to the gems of her eyes. Confined in the capitol, she stands at the edge of the shadow's reach as the sun slips and slips and slips. Her gaze is captured by the dancing reflections and embers that float in the frigid air. The drums are fingers beating against her skin, in tune with the rhythm of her wild heart. For her gypsy soul yearns to be free; to let loose under the colorful sky and not cease until dawn breaks on a far away horizon.
But she does not dance.. not yet. Not without him.
The memories of him are her only saving grace; a beacon of warmth that brings with it a comfort that swells in her chest, and a sharp pang that strikes in her gut. She never forgot the fireflies that swirled around them in golden pixie dust, or the gauze of daydreams that flirted with the deep mahogany of his skin. And oh, she could never forget his eyes. The depths of them a sweet calm that stops her heart with want. The shining star tattooed behind her ear still tingles with the imprint of his kiss, and his voice forming her name is a memory that she follows. Through the streets, her hoofbeats build and build, forever searching the crowds for her twilight prince.
Yet, upon her return, the stormsinger did not find him first. Her mouth tastes of ash and dust, and suddenly, she stops. Hesitating. What will he think of her? She cannot soon forget that the last time they spoke.. she ran. Another festival, much like the one she revels in now, but with lower stakes than this. Aislinn had been a coward for her bleeding heart; a wicked, broken thing that had not yet properly healed. He was a testament of that; for he alone sewed the strings of her heart back together, whether he knew it to be so or not. Where she was a hurricane made woman, he was the calm to her untamed storm.
So why had she not found him? After so many moons apart?
She is Calligo's night sky beneath the setting sun. Where once, galaxies swam in the blue of her eyes, are now painted along the curves of her frame. In deep violet and dusty rose and ivory there are stars that swirl down the length of her spine and across the ink of her coat. But she does not feel like those stars, as beautiful and full of havoc and chaos and dreams. She desires to.. to wish, and to live in a faerie tale with him and her. But this is not a children's story, and she is a warrior who's knuckles have tasted blood and who's heart sings a different song. So she stands, and waits, with a heaviness like a world that sits upon the back of her wings. Her hooves are frosted still, and the breath that fills her lungs is filled with glass.
Her lips cannot help but form his name, over and over again, as she silently calls into the crowds that pulse around her.
Asterion. I'm home.
@asterion
time for all of the feelings omg ♡
"Aislinn speech."
