 IPOMOEA lay me down in golden dandelions ‘cause i’ve been waiting
He wasn’t used to people agreeing with him; it took him aback a little. More often than not, he found himself in the position of the one learning, being instructed rather than instructing. He agreed with other’s ideas; others rarely agreed with his, because he was never the one to speak first (at least, not when it mattered it seemed.) The reversal of roles was nearly enough to cause him to blush again—but perhaps his cheeks were still recovering from the last one. He peered at her from beneath his long lashes, and for just a moment all of his nerves and worry left him, dissipating into the thin mountain air. Ipomoea was content: to hit pause, worry-free, to be still with her. It was as if in slow motion that he watched the horror slide into her eyes, her expression following suit. Ipomoea wished he could take the words back, to stuff them back inside of his mind where they belonged, where they could cause no harm. But it was too late, and he knew so — he’d made his decision, and now he would deal with it. But did it have to be such a big deal? His lashes drooped in sorrow, the corners of his lips tugging into a subtle frown. He was only the Emissary; it’s not as if he was quite so important as Kasil or Somnus, nor was he excellent enough to be a Champion. And neither could he punish her for a misdemeanor, for that, too, was the Warden’s job. His role was not nearly so reputable as all of these, yet still it seemed to draw a wedge between himself and the pale-freckled girl. And it surprised even himself how much he hated it. “Please, don’t apologize,” he implored, taking one careful step towards her. How he wished he could make her understand! Couldn’t they still be friends, she and him? “I’m not—“ He wasn’t what? Ipomoea could not find the words to make her understand if he did not understand himself. He frowned again, casting his eyes back to the moss-covered rock as he tried to think. “I can just be Ipomoea, to you.” He was painfully aware of the change in tone of their conversation; he could sense now her unwillingness to talk to him. ’That had not been there before, had it?’ If it was, he hadn’t noticed, and he felt foolish all of a sudden for it. How could he have been so caught up in how he might have been feeling, that he failed to realize she did not feel similarly? What a poor excuse for an Emissary he was, unable to even hold a proper conversation anymore. “I’m sorry,” he stuttered, struggling to compose himself. “I hope Delumine, Novus, holds a brighter future for you.” ’Is that the best you can do?’ Ipomoea shifted uncomfortable as silence stretched between them again, trying unsuccessfully to think of a way to restart the conversation. But it seemed he had doomed it and himself during the introductions. With an inward sigh, he cast his eyes to the sky. “It’s getting late,” he mused aloud, watching the sun inch nearer to the horizon, imagining Solis passing the star into his sister’s care. “I suppose I should be getting back.” He inclined his head one final time to Oriens alter, smoothing the petals of his bouquet gently with his telekinesis. He was stalling, and he knew it. But he lifted his gaze to her one more time, painfully aware of the space separating them—physically, socially, emotionally. His heart beat once, twice, three times in his pause, reverberating off the walls of his chest as he tried to force his mouth to move. He had already dug himself into a hole, what more harm could he do? “Would you, like to accompany me?” @messalina !! wow ”here am I!” |
art by neverrmind
<3
