Played by [ PM] Posts: N/A — Threads:
Resting On Your Bones, Bowing To Your Throne
Dawn swept over Delumine, the rays of early morning sunlight crashed into the towering spires. She whispers her morning lullaby meant to stir the souls of the Dawn Court to life. Aeranas sighs with the sunrise as it begins to rise in the sky. The air is cool, and the city is quiet. The ghost haunts one of the highest points along the wall available for the citizens of Delumine to reach. It is the place he ascends each morning to bask in the rays of early morning light. It is often the only time he allows himself to quietly contemplate all that he has encountered in his life. Each journey he has taken, each step he has made with his former companion. Morning is for mourning to him. The gentle glow from his scarf pulses the most in the morning, it is like the sea. The tides of the pulsing sway with his emotions, it flickers most when he feels the sadness in his core. It attempts to brighten the abyss that has devoured him. The abyss that has forced him to be but a memory, a whisper, a ghost among those that still feel alive.
Aerie allows his tears to fall until the morning dew is dried by the rising sun. Dawn too stains his cheeks with the reminders of his sorrow, until he returns to his dwelling and submerges his face in a basin of water before going out to face the day. It is the ritual he performs each day, so that he may continue on as the storyteller he wants the world to see. He does not want them to see the book of sorrows that has replaced his heart. The burden that he carries in the shape of her memory. Aerie does not want to be known for his sadness, but for the entertainment and joy, he brings to others. It is the only gift he can offer the world for all that it has shown him. As he turns to start his day, he nearly collides with somebody he was not aware of. He did not hear them ascend the same familiar stone stairway, nor did he hear their hooves upon the uneven ground. He pulls his head upward abruptly, as he attempts to avoid harming the stranger with his antlers.
Aerie pulls his gaze upwards to find out who has discovered him this morning. It will be the first time anyone has ever found him up here.
06-06-2020, 11:14 AM
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 the earth laughs in flowers
His footsteps sound hollow as he walks atop the wall, a drumbeat melody to keep him company. His heart feels like it’s beating along in time, his thoughts an ever-winding chorus to a song he plays with his entire body. And just below the walls, the wind whispers a soft shush, shush, shush through the grasses, and the trees tap their branches against one another in kind, and the first blackbirds and robins herald in the new day.
It is the only song he knows, this song of the earth and of the morning.
And when the first bits of morning sunlight fall across his skin, he could swear his flesh knows it just as well.
The morning arrives with a song of its own, singing a thousand colors to life across the horizon. They seem endless here atop the wall, a river of light bleeding into the bruise blue that stretches to the other end of the sky. Ipomoea imagines poetry in the way the sunlight embraces the clouds, the tree line, the twisted spires that reach hungrily up to receive it. (And somewhere, down below the wall, down in the citadel, the first early-risen citizens lift their heads to the sun in kind.)
The dawn lines his skin as he walks, warming him gently; it makes it easy to forget the sharp edge of the wind, and the frost that still glistens in the corners of the stained glass windows. It is always like this for him, the worries of the night slipping away with the first signs of light brightening the horizon. No matter how many new worries the new day might bring, for this one moment, Ipomoea could let them slip away.
It’s a quiet morning, just him and the sunrise and his thoughts. Ipomoea is not sure for how long he walks before he hears another approaching, a set of hoofbeats echoing his own. He never breaks his stride; he only continues down the walkway lining the top of the wall, until the man suddenly comes into view around a corner.
His scarf is shining brightly in the dim-morning light, like a beacon in its own right. It is the first thing Ipomoea notices, the way it stands out brilliantly against his pale skin; but then he is taking a careful step backwards, away from the antlers, away from the man’s space - and only then does he notice the rest of him.
“Good morning,” his words break the silence between them, the first thing that comes to mind to say; and Ipomoea wonders why his voice never sounded like the song of the morning. It always seemed out of place, off tune; like he spoke one beat faster than the earth (he supposes people in general tended to move faster than nature; rarely slowing or stopping to listen to the worries of the roots they tread over. It was not a legacy he took pride in being a part of.)
Some days, he wants nothing more than to be able to sing the same song the earth does, if only to forget for a moment that he is something more than a man.
But he’s not sure he knows the words to it.
“I’m not used to seeing others up here,” he confesses.
@aeranas !
”here am i!“
06-22-2020, 11:16 PM
Played by [ PM] Posts: N/A — Threads:
Take my heart and make it strong here
A man made of earth, flowers, and snow emerge before him. Aerie cannot place if he knows this man who has been so lovingly crafted by the earth and all its seasons. Aerie notices first the crown of flowers, and then the wings that emerge from his ankles. Aerie is lucky that he is taller than his companion, for his height seemed to have helped him narrowly avoid tearing flesh from the man with gentle eyes. He is too caught up with his own shame to allow his mind to weave stories about the man who stands before him. The staccato greeting of early morning comes from his companion. Salutations to dawn, whether he realizes it or not. Aerie is not the dawn, he is a ghost that merely haunts the walls she kisses awake. "Good morning." The words spill from his ash stained lips, his throat tight from the emotion that had spilled from them moments ago.
The man confesses that he is not used to seeing others atop the crest of the wall here. Aerie does not know him as a sinner, so he finds the confession misplaced. Strange for someone to confess to a ghost rather than a priest. "Nor am I." The words crash from his maw awkwardly. He is not the wordsmith the world knows him to be, he is the man who has been discovered at one of his lowest points. "I am used to seeing the dawn gently rouse the city from slumber, not the bodies of men haunting the walls of Delumine." Aerie cannot stop the admission from flowing past his lips. He can feel the seams he has worked so hard to close begin to tear open. There is something painfully familiar to him about his companion, but he cannot place it. The crown of flowers sleeps upon his head, but he cannot remember where he has ever seen such a feature. His imagination balks at the thought of crafting a story about this stranger, the encounter is too awkward for him to breathe his stories.
Aerie finds that he is staring, but he can't help himself it seems. "I'm sorry, I'm not usually so awkward. My name is Aerie." He refrains from admitting that a stranger finding him so early is like peering into a diary he has written that contains his darkest secrets. He is vulnerable, but he cannot admit this to a stranger. The glow of his scarf swells momentarily. It seems to ask him how he could have forgotten his idea that all of life is an adventure. Aerie feels the lump in his throat grow once more, and he forces himself to tear his gaze away from the earth-chiseled man.
06-27-2020, 03:38 PM
Played by [ PM] Posts: N/A — Threads:
the earth laughs in flowers
Around them the dawn is an explosion of color, light kissing the earth and blossoming across the court. It catches in the spires above them, glinting off of a bell and breaking itself into pieces through the stained glass windows. Somewhere, in the distance, the first few birds of the morning are heralding its coming with song.
It reminds him, for a moment, that there is one bird who will never again join them. Beyond the castle walls his new bonded is running, running, running between trees and flower stalks on his way back to him. But he knows it is not the same, will never be the same. And the thought weighs heavy on his heart like a noose.
But he is not a ghost, as much as he sometimes feels like one — and reflecting on the ghosts in his lives has never brought him peace. So he forces the smile on his lips to persist, even if his eyes turn a little blue, even if his heart is starting to ache, even when the other man’s admission takes him by surprise.
He’s one beat too slow in answering (funny, he thinks — that he should be one beat faster than the earth, and still one beat slower than the rest of his race.) “I suppose even ghosts need to be roused from their haunting. Perhaps even more so than the living might.”
Sometimes, he likes to watch other’s faces as he introduces himself; particularly when he does so with his full name. And he has narrowed a multitude of personalities down to three reactions: realization, dawning with either surprise or horror. Embarrassment, sometimes accompanied with an attempt to brush off their ignorance. And then, of course, there was no reaction — and it seems odd to him, that he should feel most comfortable with those in this category.
So he finds himself watching Aerie closely when he says his next words.
“I didn’t even notice,” he promises, and his smile turns genuine. “I am Ipomoea.”
And sometimes, he wonders if it is not better to pretend to be a ghost somedays after all, if only because ghosts are rarely as recognizable as the living.
@aeranas !
”here am i!“
08-07-2020, 06:07 PM
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