This keening soul;
Tinea has eyes upon them. In the dark of its shadows (those shadows that grow as night begins to waken, to call upon the darkness) things creep and they watch. The waters bubble, ponds lapping at her feet. The vegetation beneath Leto’s hooves is damp and the cold presses in upon her, closer, closer. The afternoon sun, hazy with deep autumn, sets its eyes upon the Dusk Court king. It is a twilight season, as autumn slips into Winter. The court itself is spun by the approaching gloaming, frost gleaming upon the leaves as winter cools the sky to a brilliant white-blue.
But then her star falls and all smells like burning ozone and for once she realizes she is not watching the star that falls but the way it flares within his wide, wide eyes. Asterion shivers and she feels the air tremble too, the heat of the star is upon her skin. It burns like a flash, but her veins are hotter. Her white blood runs wicked and magical. Light licks at the center of her being. Leto is lighter that the midday sun; she is a star-fire girl.
She is burning. Her veins flare as though they summoned lightning down into her very blood. She is black and brilliant white, her eyes a solar flare. Ah that fire is burning, sweat is steam before it even blooms from her pores.
But so soon the star is gone, soon her body is ice and Winter’s kiss is slipping like rime along her spine. She is sure there might be thin frost forming, glittering like diamond dust over the black of her coat. A tremble rocks her, her teeth chattering.
The king sways close and it is not unwelcome. His heat is a sun to her now and she does not lean from him. The doves take flight, crying their alarm into the breeze, rustling the trees and bending the branch that held them. It creaks and it groans like the song of wind in deepest night
His laughter is smoke in the air. It slips like midnight through the trees and, though she cannot see it, she feels the lull of it. Her eyes close, succumbing to the dark of him, the stars that shine. Leto’s ears twitch, her gaze glittering with a drowsiness she blinks away, away.
Her king has caught her out and her lips purse, even through her drowsiness. A slow blink, a fluttering of her heart. The earth chatters with the clicking of the bones woven into her ebony mane as she dismisses his words. “But I came to call you home. I did not know what you looked like, I wanted to be sure.” Her chin tips up, defiant, for she does not wish to consider the blood that flushes her cheeks, for the twisting of her stomach and the anxious laugh that bubbles in her chest. She does not like what they might imply. Leto is made for the lauding of earth’s great magic for summoning stars out of the sky. She was focused, until Asterion.
His breath is warm fingers weaving between her mane, brushing over the shell of her ear. Her ears fall back and her heart beats faster, her skin blushes hotter. What blessing it is to be born of a raven’s wing! The night-time hue of her body hides all the sins of her unwelcome reactions. But Leto does not move from him, not as she should, not as she would like to.
“I have not seen a sea of stars.” She says, for it is easier to think of stars than of true saltwater that rolls toward her in waves and reaches to pull her out to sea. Her breath is shallow in her chest, her eyes wide, wide. A prophesy lies over her. It was told in the rippling and darkening of blood within a bowl, in the white set of the Witch Doctor’s eyes. Such a haunting voice that prophesy has and it whispers in her ears still. It make Leto tremble beside this boy of the sea. It makes her skin dry with salt, her lips chapped and dusted with sand. She shudders and maybe he feels it, maybe he can hear the way her breath rattles like bones at the bottom of the sea.
“I will die at sea.” The girl says, when he speaks of his love for it. And how she has fashioned herself to be strong, yet has run from the sea since the very day of her prophesy! Leto inhales until her lungs are fit to burst, until they are full of water and magic and- oh. She breathes out, slow, slow and knows, as she looks upon Asterion why she pulls away. The waters drift to him, the swamps deep puddles yearning for him. “You have water magic don’t you?” Leto gazes at this boy, this star-strewn king and whispers a plea, for what her sigils cannot protect her from. “Will you teach me how to swim, so I might not die?”
But then her star falls and all smells like burning ozone and for once she realizes she is not watching the star that falls but the way it flares within his wide, wide eyes. Asterion shivers and she feels the air tremble too, the heat of the star is upon her skin. It burns like a flash, but her veins are hotter. Her white blood runs wicked and magical. Light licks at the center of her being. Leto is lighter that the midday sun; she is a star-fire girl.
She is burning. Her veins flare as though they summoned lightning down into her very blood. She is black and brilliant white, her eyes a solar flare. Ah that fire is burning, sweat is steam before it even blooms from her pores.
But so soon the star is gone, soon her body is ice and Winter’s kiss is slipping like rime along her spine. She is sure there might be thin frost forming, glittering like diamond dust over the black of her coat. A tremble rocks her, her teeth chattering.
The king sways close and it is not unwelcome. His heat is a sun to her now and she does not lean from him. The doves take flight, crying their alarm into the breeze, rustling the trees and bending the branch that held them. It creaks and it groans like the song of wind in deepest night
His laughter is smoke in the air. It slips like midnight through the trees and, though she cannot see it, she feels the lull of it. Her eyes close, succumbing to the dark of him, the stars that shine. Leto’s ears twitch, her gaze glittering with a drowsiness she blinks away, away.
Her king has caught her out and her lips purse, even through her drowsiness. A slow blink, a fluttering of her heart. The earth chatters with the clicking of the bones woven into her ebony mane as she dismisses his words. “But I came to call you home. I did not know what you looked like, I wanted to be sure.” Her chin tips up, defiant, for she does not wish to consider the blood that flushes her cheeks, for the twisting of her stomach and the anxious laugh that bubbles in her chest. She does not like what they might imply. Leto is made for the lauding of earth’s great magic for summoning stars out of the sky. She was focused, until Asterion.
His breath is warm fingers weaving between her mane, brushing over the shell of her ear. Her ears fall back and her heart beats faster, her skin blushes hotter. What blessing it is to be born of a raven’s wing! The night-time hue of her body hides all the sins of her unwelcome reactions. But Leto does not move from him, not as she should, not as she would like to.
“I have not seen a sea of stars.” She says, for it is easier to think of stars than of true saltwater that rolls toward her in waves and reaches to pull her out to sea. Her breath is shallow in her chest, her eyes wide, wide. A prophesy lies over her. It was told in the rippling and darkening of blood within a bowl, in the white set of the Witch Doctor’s eyes. Such a haunting voice that prophesy has and it whispers in her ears still. It make Leto tremble beside this boy of the sea. It makes her skin dry with salt, her lips chapped and dusted with sand. She shudders and maybe he feels it, maybe he can hear the way her breath rattles like bones at the bottom of the sea.
“I will die at sea.” The girl says, when he speaks of his love for it. And how she has fashioned herself to be strong, yet has run from the sea since the very day of her prophesy! Leto inhales until her lungs are fit to burst, until they are full of water and magic and- oh. She breathes out, slow, slow and knows, as she looks upon Asterion why she pulls away. The waters drift to him, the swamps deep puddles yearning for him. “You have water magic don’t you?” Leto gazes at this boy, this star-strewn king and whispers a plea, for what her sigils cannot protect her from. “Will you teach me how to swim, so I might not die?”
@Asterion | "speaks" | notes: loooooong
