so darling, darling stand by me
ohh stand by me, stand by me
ohh stand by me, stand by me
Snowflakes like falling crystals hang in their air amidst the silence that grows between them. Suddenly, she feels as if she had spoken too boldly. Somehow, someway, she might have stepped across a boundary from which there is no return. A shred of worry grows in her heart; stealing her breath, but for a moment, and lumping like a hard stone in the reaches of her throats. Words are not even a thought on her lips. No apology, no sentiment. Only the galaxy of stars that had once stretched and expanded between them — now collapsed and hanging on the balance of their fragile universe that is this night at the festival.
In fact, I think I'm more lost than anything else.
Aislinn cradles the careful offering of his words like a baby bird in cupped palms. In some way, she can only imagine the ice of his walls crack. Just enough, do they seem to splinter and allow the outstretched hand of her stars and smoke break through to him. Their eyes meet then, as the stranger looks up at the storms swirling there in her orbs. For a breath, her heart stutters — remarkably self-conscious of the hurricane that is wrought in her gaze. But still he looks upon her, if only for a second, before his stare finds a horizon that blurs far from them both. A soft, soundless sigh looses from her lips, as if the air in her lungs had been constricted and bound in the cage of her ribs. What is she to do, except stand here and hope?
The phantom hands that held his offering of words slowly began to fall. Maybe, maybe he did not want her here. Was she silly enough to think that her presence was wanted? Why would she stand here, allowing her kindness to be stepped on, marred on? But then again.. she had willingly led herself here. Still, the stormsinger stands at his side. No, she would stay, until told otherwise. For she knows too well the pain of both desiring to be alone, and not wanting to be lonely all the same.
"I know too well of being lost," she admits; an almost-whisper that carries on the snowflakes that flutter between them. A careful star of snow that blots the air in an icy chill that has yet to cool the heat that floods under her skin. The stormsinger only searches his face, all too curious, all to full of wonder and childlike innocence. She is not a warrior born of lightning and storms on this night, but instead a gypsy woman who is as free as the wind that swirls around their ankles. She is as unbound as the sun that travels across their sky, and a dreamer who wishes on Calligo's stars above. On this night, she is not a guardian, or a protector, or a soldier of war that craves torn knuckles and blood on her lips.
She is only a girl, who offers a small smile to the man of white and silver and blue. The festival is a warm pyre of music and song around them, but here, at his side.. their is a cloud of hushed quiet. It is only him and her, and the unsaid words that are spoken without volumes in gestures and the flicker of an ear. Her lips curl on one side; her eyelids suddenly heavy. Ebony lashes fall upon the dark of her cheeks, her gaze downcast, staring upon the growing of shadows that gather as the sun continues to fall. How beautiful.
Her words are a murmur, but are light on her lips. "My name is Ash."
@aion ♡
"Aislinn speech."
