of course i feel too much
i'm a universe of exploding stars
i'm a universe of exploding stars
Aislinn, my dear friend.
He is polished white gold under a spring time sun, draped in gauzy silks that mirror the midnight of her skin. And oh, his words are welcome sun drops that melt on her heart, swelling the organ until it could nearly burst. The feeling is so unlike the ruthless sunlight of day, for this one.. this one is happiness and contentment, admiration and gentleness. The beating of her heart is tipping over with tenderness and the rare sort of affection she did not realize could be born for friends. So much so, that Aislinn could swear he might be able to see her heart through the bone cage of her ribs, where it lays and shines brighter than a newborn star.
The stormsinger’s eyes are shimmering jewels of sapphire, akin to the gems that glitter and drape across every fine ivory curve of him. Isorath, the Flamekeeper, now no longer swathed in silks of twilight and dusk, but of Calligo’s sweet darkness. Her smile only curves, curling at a single edge; because she notices then, how starlight and shadows truly are befitting of him. And now..
Now he is one of them. Like her. A Child of the Night.
Her smile does not dare falter as her eyes take in the details of each tea cup and dish of herbs. Incense curls in her lungs, wisping and seeping relaxing muses into her tired, healing muscles as she further lounges upon the mess of pillows. She but only takes a moment, a still moment in which her orbs flutter close and spring winds tickle the tangles of her mane. And when her gaze blinks open, Aislinn cannot help but gasp — for petals, beautiful, snowflakes of vernal pink, fall and dance in the breeze from the trees lining the garden.
How wonderful this moment is then; that she could forever hold this memory close to her. Never to be forgotten. For as she looks to him once more, the moment fading, she notes the wafts of heat rising from his skin. Where silks do and jewels do not touch him, warmth floods from alabaster skin and scales of gold. So unlike the bonded that perches lazily upon the walls of the Night Keep. The dragon — still she stumbles over her belief in what she sees — is woven from myth and legend. He is a thing of stories, all ice and fire and the iridescence that could only be found in dark eternal. But she is not afraid. Her fear only stems from one thing.
A Solterran Warden.
How are you feeling?
Uncommonly, the stormsinger sighs, the weight of her wounded wing suddenly too heavy. The bandaged appendage droops, sinking onto the too lovely pillows beneath her, but yet she can no longer find the strength too worry about the blood. Gaze downcast, seeing nothing, she whispers, ”To be truthful, I don’t know.” Tears, hot and threatening, pin prick in her eyes. But Aislinn is strong — she forbids them, banning them, dismissing them. There is only the memory of silver lining her eyes that lingers as she peers into his lilac pools. She finds a familiar comfort in his gaze, using such as a tether so she does not fall into the pits of the pain that would rather swallow her whole.
What she does not admit, however, is how Torstein’s words still haunt her so.
She looks to the petals that drift, landing one by one on the table laying between them. ”Is it so wrong that I feel as if I am forever bound to Mother Earth now? Never to swim in the skies again?” she asks. A murmur, barely audible; possibly a thought she didn’t mean to share.
Shaking her crown, a laugh escapes her, wild and chasing away her demons. A ghost of her smile returns. ”Tell me about you, Isorath. How are you doing now that you are one of Calligo’s own?”
@isorath eeeep ♡ please excuse the rust
"Aislinn speech."
