tenebrae
let everything happen to you, beauty and terror, just keep going, no feeling is final
Ten?
He knows that voice. The familiarity of it curls within him. It roots, burrowing down, down until it finds that dusted place it once resided.
Oh familiarity.
No. More than that.
An ear twists and slowly his head turns to where her voice came from. It is old habit alone, there is nothing in his eyes that can see her. But he remembers.
Luvena is there, her body swathed in her sunset hues, her body slim, her eyes filled with warmth, with caring.
Yet he remembers her then, he does not see her now.
For a man who worked beside a Denoctian queen as her Regent, he should know the rustle he hears. it is the sound of every subject showing respect to their monarch. But he is too lost in his remembering, of piecing the sight of her back together within his mind. Already the memory of her has become like an old photograph, faded, falling apart for all the times it has been looked at and remembered through.
"Lu." Low is his voice, ragged and rough.
Where his name was a question from her lips, his is assurance.
"You came back." Ironic. Since it was he who left them altogether. He who was the sinner enough to be cast out. He who left and raged his broken way across worlds.
But now he stands within that darkened healing room, amidst the smell of herbs and ointments and healing wounds. And she stands within his memory, so very real. He curses his blindness and turns to where he thinks she is stood. Gods, he longs to see her again.
"How are you?"
