tenebrae
let everything happen to you, beauty and terror, just keep going, no feeling is final
Tenebrae smiles as Maeve describes the scenery to him. It is not just a smile for the imagined beauty of the flowers, but for the concentration he hears in her voice and the sweeping high of happy delight at the beauty of the flowers. The monk can hear how she searches for words, how each flower has a place and a name for its beauty. The girl searches for it and Tenebrae is sure he can imagine how her face looked, the wrinkles that form atop her brow as her concentration makes its demands.
The stallion’s lips tip up as Maeve requests he keep the flower. “Of course,” Tenebrae breathes without hesitation, his head lowering, his poll tipping to where he thinks the girl might be stood. “It is a gift and a gift is always worth keeping, especially one as valuable as this.” The flower turns as his telekineses holds it. Its rotation is slow, as if Tenebrae takes the time to study its every angle. And maybe he does, within his mind. Maybe behind his bandages is a flower even more beautiful than the one he holds. Or maybe the flower is less beautiful, yet no less precious because of how it came into his possession.
His grin turns soft and light. It is a far cry from the shadowed grins of a warrior. “We need wire to make a crown, I think,” The Disciple murmurs and even without eyes he knows that there is likely to be no wire found within the sea of tulips. “But, we could probably string something together with my magic first, and if you like it, we can find some wire with which to make it permanent.” As he speaks, Tenebrae can only think that Elena would be better than he at building a flower crown. Though she is somewhere near, he knows, he still feels the inevitability of her presence in his soul, he does not dare to find her in the flowers.
“I think you should pick the flowers you want to weave into your crown first.”
