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Private  - (fire) each memory recalled must do some violence,

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Azrael
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azrael

As he walked through the meadow, Azrael had seen the flames. Higher into the sky they rose, with them the song of celebration – but fire brought the shed-star little cause to celebrate. Instead, it reminded him of the fateful day when the People were lost to the dragon’s whim. It reminded him of death, of defiance, of endings. He blinks against the brightness of the fire-light, quickly wandering past to hide his fear and the way his breath catches in his throat. For today, he was called to this place in celebration. It wouldn’t do for the past to haunt him, he thinks with a sigh, pushing away the memories and moving toward the children who danced gaily among the flowers.

They came marked in all manner of paint, some intricately painted with others merely wearing a splash or two. As the children danced nearer, they streaked his own body with blues and greens, which Azrael simply smiles in response to, leaning down to let a small girl reach his neck and face with her brush. While they dance, he sings a song of old – a song that the stars used to sing to the night sky. It is a beautiful and haunting tune, one which tells the story of the great sky mare and her midnight blessings.

Some listened, but most continued to play and dive about in the poppies, his voice rich and warm in the spring weather. As the magician spun his tale through song, his bright eyes ripple among the crowds which gathered to listen, falling on Warset as she watches him. He nods toward her, recognizing one of the People by her demeanor as much as the molten silver of her gaze, and as his song grows toward its end, the shed-star bows to those who clap and slowly makes his way toward her.

“Star sister, what brings you here?” His voice is quiet and kind, acknowledging the kinship they shared while curious if the fires bothered her too. Was she there, he wondered, when the world they had known burned to ash? It wasn’t a past he wished to relive, but Azrael dreamed of his lost home far more often than he’d care to admit. “I am called Azrael,” he offers, pushing away the memories and offering a thread of recognition for her to grab as they stand among strangers in Delumine.

“Speaking.”
credits


@Warset










Messages In This Thread
(fire) each memory recalled must do some violence, - by Warset - 10-10-2020, 09:10 PM
RE: (fire) each memory recalled must do some violence, - by Azrael - 10-13-2020, 03:37 AM
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