[AW] just don't ask

[Isorath]

I S O R A T H — and I sank beneath the amorous sadness of night. Walking the halls of the Grand Keep now came with a sense of freedom, relief washed over him like gentle waves upon the shore, each wave gentler than the last. He smiled a smile that was caught between amusement and quiet adoration, lilac eyes hidden beneath long lashes of pristine white. How long had he had such tension in his bones? Dancing the fine line on porcelain hooves, lines taut and warped beneath silent suffering? It had been torture, to put duty before the ruined remains of his heart, each beat of their splintered visage in the presence of the King of Thieves had twisted them in their shackles. Now? Now he moved sinuous and light, dancing across the ground in dancers steps, elegant and poised like his Princely blood decreed him to be. He saw Denocte in a new light, and it's equines too. It felt like home, even if he had worn the colours of dusk a handful of days before, close like his satin sheets and expensive silks — Calligo's fit him just as well. Her shadowy visage and luminous stars wrapped around him like a lovers embrace. Like home. The Courtyard was brisk as he stepped out into it, Spring had ushered much of Winter away save for the nip on the breeze and the kiss of frost which lined the statues and the fringes of the steps, threatening to turn his already pink nose a deeper shade of rose. Though the Dragon he spied in the distance, as his lilac eyes turned skyward, might be the cause. Aether always brought the chill of Winter with him, the blizzard wild in his wings and Winter's breath exhaled with each rumbled breath. Yet, the sky didn't hold his attention for long, a rather ungodly groan reached his ears which caused his antlered head to turn back toward the ground. A curious look peppered his features when he spotted the large stag sat sprawled on the Courtyard stones, a man who looked a little worse for wear, and not just from a particularly bad morning. Alighting from the steps near silently, he drew to a stop a short distance from the man, if only for the fact the strong scent of alcohol assailed his nostrils like a thug would it's unsuspecting victim; a punch in the gut to make the eyes water. Momentarily thrown from his train of thought, the Herald stood as still as a marble statue one might find in ruined temples and grand halls alike, caught between being mortified on the stag's behalf and all consuming amusement. He settled for a mixture of both.  "Bad morning?" He offered with a quirked brow, a fine smirk settled on his sharp features.  TAG: @Rostislav