A I O N
The crunch of hooves on snow was subtle behind him, yet distinct. Loud enough to alert Aion several paces of listening before he had company. To give him several paces of absolute dread, every fiber of his being wishing the intruder away. His head dropped subconsciously, black-and-white speckled ears falling backwards into his crown of feathers.
“Then you shouldn’t have,” he cuts her off curtly, resisting the urge to look over at her. Instead, he caught a glimpse from the corner of his eye, barely perceptible. She was shorter than him, a dark bat coloring turning her face and neck black. The white mane that spilled over her poll was bright and vibrant against her, and against the darkness that surrounded them. He looked away.
Silence returns, stretching on between them.
A younger version of him would not have been so curt as this. He would have danced with his words, a false nicety laced into every breath. Aion can still see his 4 year old self in his mind, although a stranger now in both appearance and tact. That version had cared so much more about public image and respect than he did now. He had been red once, brilliantly colored, before the worries of the world had turned his face and heart black. The world, too, had been brighter, and far more welcoming, hope laying on every horizon and greeting him with every sunrise.
Now everything was faded into black and white, much like himself. As hard as the painters had tried to add color to him, he looked better without.
“The painters can't always help themselves. Their job is to find beauty, after all.” He had not meant to break the silence; had he? It seemed like a betrayal of himself to give her a reason to stay, or give himself a distraction from the melancholy thoughts that had taken over his mind. But his voice had a mind of its own tonight, as if inspired by the new look he’d been given tonight. The tattoo ink bled down past his skin, invading his arteries and veins, filling the spaces in his heart. His resolve was already slipping away… he always had been ruled by his heart and his emotions. There was no sense in denying it here, where everyone else seemed the same.
Only now did Aion look at her, shifting his head sideways so that he could see the stormsinger clearly. The night sky was her skin; all the painters had to do was fill it with stars. His eyes followed the many patterns of constellations strewn across her body at whim, wonder seeping into his icy eyes as he tried to discern what was skin and what was tattoo. “It’s like the skies have come alive on you tonight.” His voice was little more than a whisper, lost as he was in the canvas she had become.
The paint looked best on her.
All he had to boast were some colors and flecks smeared across his shoulders and chest, a crude attempt at capturing the spring wind (spring for Eros, not himself). But Aion had controlled the wind once, had bent it to his will; he knew words and pictures couldn’t do it justice.
Pulling himself back together took no small effort. “Surely you have somewhere better to be tonight? Parties aren’t meant to be attended alone, you know.” Maybe he was talking more to himself than her now; something had shifted inside, unlocking one of the chains constricting his heart. He had returned his gaze back to some dark, unidentifiable spot in the distance; but one ear was tilted back towards her now, listening and waiting.
@Aislinn I don’t mind at all! I love Ash <3
“Then you shouldn’t have,” he cuts her off curtly, resisting the urge to look over at her. Instead, he caught a glimpse from the corner of his eye, barely perceptible. She was shorter than him, a dark bat coloring turning her face and neck black. The white mane that spilled over her poll was bright and vibrant against her, and against the darkness that surrounded them. He looked away.
Silence returns, stretching on between them.
A younger version of him would not have been so curt as this. He would have danced with his words, a false nicety laced into every breath. Aion can still see his 4 year old self in his mind, although a stranger now in both appearance and tact. That version had cared so much more about public image and respect than he did now. He had been red once, brilliantly colored, before the worries of the world had turned his face and heart black. The world, too, had been brighter, and far more welcoming, hope laying on every horizon and greeting him with every sunrise.
Now everything was faded into black and white, much like himself. As hard as the painters had tried to add color to him, he looked better without.
“The painters can't always help themselves. Their job is to find beauty, after all.” He had not meant to break the silence; had he? It seemed like a betrayal of himself to give her a reason to stay, or give himself a distraction from the melancholy thoughts that had taken over his mind. But his voice had a mind of its own tonight, as if inspired by the new look he’d been given tonight. The tattoo ink bled down past his skin, invading his arteries and veins, filling the spaces in his heart. His resolve was already slipping away… he always had been ruled by his heart and his emotions. There was no sense in denying it here, where everyone else seemed the same.
Only now did Aion look at her, shifting his head sideways so that he could see the stormsinger clearly. The night sky was her skin; all the painters had to do was fill it with stars. His eyes followed the many patterns of constellations strewn across her body at whim, wonder seeping into his icy eyes as he tried to discern what was skin and what was tattoo. “It’s like the skies have come alive on you tonight.” His voice was little more than a whisper, lost as he was in the canvas she had become.
The paint looked best on her.
All he had to boast were some colors and flecks smeared across his shoulders and chest, a crude attempt at capturing the spring wind (spring for Eros, not himself). But Aion had controlled the wind once, had bent it to his will; he knew words and pictures couldn’t do it justice.
Pulling himself back together took no small effort. “Surely you have somewhere better to be tonight? Parties aren’t meant to be attended alone, you know.” Maybe he was talking more to himself than her now; something had shifted inside, unlocking one of the chains constricting his heart. He had returned his gaze back to some dark, unidentifiable spot in the distance; but one ear was tilted back towards her now, listening and waiting.
@Aislinn I don’t mind at all! I love Ash <3
rhiann art
