[P] No one calls you honey when you're sitting on a throne

[Isorath]

I S O R A T H — you will ache as I ache— tenderly, tragically, beautifully. Spring buds and birdsong greeted Isorath the moment he stepped from the slowly warming stone stairs. All around, life ghosted and skirted around the lingering frost like the stream through the forest, coaxing life to flourish in vibrant splashes and dazzling hues beneath banners of sunlight. Thin pale streaks which fought against the clouds painted across the sky in smokey palettes of grey and white, with the sort of desperation and determination one would expect from the sun. The Rotunda had been outfitted for the Kirin and his intended company earlier on, rich velvet banners embroidered with Denocte's proud colors floated alongside sheer drapes of snow white. Providing an extra touch of luxury and privacy to it's occupants. It radiated warmth and home to the Sage, with it's plush pillows and blankets within, the incense burners who permeated the air with their perfumed smoke. Inviting those who gazed upon it closer, to slip past the veil and curl themselves within the richness, warm, content and never wishing to leave. 'it's almost as if you never left Sunsyia, with all your silks and finery. And the tea.' Aether's voice mused across his mind, the dragon himself coiled lazily ontop of one of the ancient high walls. Frost crept out from beneath his great bulk, spindly tendrils against the pitch black hue of his form. Never too far from Isorath's side, Aether kept one white eye on his companion at all times, protective and intrigued all in the same breath. Aether also made a rather grand statement of making sure no one bothered or caused trouble, a dragon was a rather handy silent threat. 'there's nothing wrong with enjoying yourself, and finery. With friends no less.' Isorath retorted, punctuated by a lazy flick of his ear. He was more focused on setting up the ornate tea set he was so fond of, and making sure there was room for the food that would arrive shortly. Until then, there was the selection of sweets he'd picked up from the night markets, similar to the ones he'd had a penchant for at home. Once done, he resigned himself to the comfort of the ink colored blanket he had elected to claim for himself, upon the equally dark cushion. The smell of incense curled in his nostrils, with the undertone of tea leaves and his own perfume. He'd sent word to Aislinn to see him in the Garden, if she was feeling up to it. He had worried and fussed internally when word had reached him of her wounds. Few had managed to earn such a fond spot in his heart, such a strange and fickle thing that it was, wounded and jealousy guarding the tenderness it had left. TAG: @Aislinn NOTES: <3 "this here is your speech colour!