A S T E R I O N
in sunshine and in shadow*
Asterion wonders if he was once as shy as this boy; on the heels of this thought is the question of whether he still is. Certainly he possesses none of the boldness of Florentine or Isorath or Reichenbach (though their confidence was as distinct as their looks; he’d never known there were so many kinds of self-assurance). Lately he hasn’t felt sure of anything – not since the festival. The only thing he’s learned is how to pretend.
But he is not pretending now, as he smiles at the youth, dipping his head at the returned introduction.
“I am glad you feel at ease here, Cynix,” he says truthfully, and motions with his chin like he would wave a hand, gesturing that they might move forward and walk the sunlit streets. “I found them very welcoming when I was a stranger who knew nothing of this world.” He keeps an ear trained on the boy, but now his gaze shifts back to him, too. There is a slight furrow in his brow, a shadow of confusion in his eye, when he speaks again. “But I thought the Night Court is considered the least judgmental. I’d not heard otherwise.”
No – they certainly seemed free. Free to hurt, free to deceive. He still has trouble reconciling it: that the same Reichenbach he’d shared a nightcap with in the Terrastella kitchens only weeks before had left a friend of Flora’s and citizen of Dusk’s hovering on the edge of death.
Once more he looks away, his gaze falling on the walls that rose smooth into the sunshine. It is a beautiful spring day in the court he calls home, but it does nothing for the shadow on his heart. Oh, it had been so much easier in that other world, where dangers were common as dandelions but none of them came from his own kind.
@Cynix no worries at all!
