Rhoswen ►
The weak lay hand on what the strong have done ,
For Rhoswen, the break of dawn was an interval cast to divide two halves of a ruinous play. The meridian of both night and day brought the woman great malaise; her rhythmic adulation for Solis fell on, seemingly, deaf ears: He was not listening, He was not watching, and so come the fall of darkness she was left once again to thrash under the noxious gaze of Caligo's and her shadow. It was with relief that she stood upon the bank of Vitreus, drinking in a sight she had never once forgotten no matter how far her body and mind might stray from Denocte. A pair of swans swept over the kaleidoscope of watercolour, their necks arched high above strapping wings tucked neatly into a plethora of ivory down; beautiful creatures, beautiful but fierce.
It was as Rhos studied the pair that a floral, albeit musky, lilt accompanied the eastern breeze; bringing her knowledge of an imminent arrival. Her sanguine-silver skin glittered beneath a flush of apricot and violet light as her neck arced toward the man who approached from her left flank, and eyes the colour of hard winter rain ran briskly over his silhouette. That same crepuscular gaze revealed a flicker of faint recognition: burnished dappled skin, starlit eyes, sinewy shoulders to rival that of her brother's -- yes, she had seen this stranger before. His name escaped her, but a memory of old came cracking through the floodgates. Colours and faces rippled like ribbons in the wind, the ominous sound of trumpets accompanied the sight of war banners towered overhead: yes, she remembered the day Denocte had waved farewell to their troops. She had been so young - a child still in mind if not body, and yet so many of those conscripted had been her own age themselves. The recollection of this passing memoir was so clearly entwined with the face of this silver-haired individual that Rhoswen could only conclude she had glimpsed his face among the throng of soldiers: a survivor, a hero.
Such a recollection however, Rhos kept to herself. It had no purpose to serve this morning; not here, not now. They were simply two souls stood before a lake, relishing an hour of quiet before the world flared into cacophony and commotion. And relish it she would. It was with a steady unassuming gaze that she watched the man address her, listening as his voice swung and oscillated into the cool dawn air, filling the low sky with its cordiality. The last person Rhoswen had stood beside Vitreus lake had been Raum - years ago and the thought caused the pale woman to break her smoke-filled stare to search out across the water. Guilt: fervent and infernal.
"Yes, it is beautiful," soft words to conceal hard emotion, "though I come here every morning, I can't say I have any answers to show for it." It was with a cynical smile upon her features that Rhoswen turned back to the stranger, the knot in her stomach tightening still. "You are?"
@Renwick <3
