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I P O M O E A He couldn’t help himself; his attention was continuously drawn to Messalina like a moth to a flame, near-blatantly ignoring the Night King. It wasn’t intentional—he would never dream of showing such disrespect to a king, especially when it was his job to represent his nation! But his mind had turned into a fickle, wayward thing: in the presence of Messalina, nothing else seemed nearly so interesting. His mind and heart were united, very much without his consent. When Messalina speaks, he’s enraptured: collecting her words like flowers, cradling them near and dear. She wasn’t even addressing him, but such minor details no longer seemed to matter to the young Emissary. So long as she was speaking, what she was saying was important to him, despite how careful and guarded she had become since their intimate encounter had turned into a party of three. And Po couldn’t help but wonder: had she wanted to be alone with him, too? His heart soared at the thought, fluttering like a wild thing caged within his chest. It was like counting the petals of a flower (for Po wouldn’t dare to demolish a flower in such a brutal way), whispering to himself upon each one: “she loves me… she loves me not…” becoming inexplicably happy when the last one declared their love indeed. His attention was snapped back at the mention of Delumine, backtracking quickly in his mind. That had been important, hadn’t it? News that he could carry back to his Sovereign, the promise that he and his fellow citizens would always be welcome within the secluded borders of Denocte. Ipomoea was too young and naive to question the King again—he couldn’t imagine a time when tensions would rise and alliances would change. To him, the present was the future: despite how wrong he might be. He followed carefully behind Reichenbach, his head bobbing amicably with each step as he grazed past Messalina, their shoulders touching for just a moment. His mind was still fluttering in the clouds, his heart soaring alongside it. And so when Reich pulled the painting into the light, its style distinctly familiar, it took a moment for the similarities to click. “—it’s beautiful,” he stammered, pressing closer now to appreciate it up close. He couldn’t help the sense of pride he felt—of course the painter would have found inspiration in the rising sun, framed by the Court that had been crafted to accentuate it. Ipomoea was as biased as could be when it came to a debate over which time of day was most beautiful. “How many more of these do you have?” If Reichenbach let him, the appaloosa was apt to spend the rest of his visit here in the gallery, admiring the many works of Ixion that he was coming to adore. @messalina @reichenbach I am SO sorry for how late this is!! i’m back now promise <3 ”here am i!“ |
neverrmind art
