Hello, Guest! Register

Current Novus date and time is
... currently in progress!

 Year || 503
 Season || Winter
 Temp || -10℉ (-23℃) to 55℉ (12℃)
 Weather || Winter has left a blanket of pristine white snow in many parts of Novus. Only Solterra remains mostly untouched by the season's frosted hold, but even the desert may feel a cold breath of wind now and then. With Winter now settled across the continent, dreams of Spring dance in the minds of many.

Member: E-cho

Character: Seraphina

Pair: Moira & Asterion

Thread: Coloring outside the lines

Quote: "There is something to be said for how soothing habit could be, when one was trying to avoid words they shouldn’t say." Theodosia, Cinderblock gardens
see here for nominations

Private - let there be light, oh let me be right;
Asterion — Dusk Court Sovereign Signos: 1,435
▶ Played by Griffin [PM] Posts: 328 — Threads: 34
▶ Male [He/Him/His] Hth: 42 — Atk: 38 — Exp: 87
▶ 7 [Year 496 Winter] Active Magic: Water Manipulation
▶ 16 hh Bonded: Cirrus (Pallas's Gull)
I want to be with those who know secret things
or else alone

Asterion almost does not recognize his sister when the flash of gold catches in the corner of his eye like a tear. 

At once he turns, a cry of warning already forming on his tongue, but it never passes beyond his teeth. Something has transformed Florentine; she is not the sad and bruised girl that has walked Novus for months like a flower crushed by summer heat. There is no mistaking her - he has never met a girl so gold, could never miss the shape of her wings or the bright purple thick in her hair - and yet this is a sister the bay king has never met. 

Oh, she gleams against the blackening sky, and even without her dagger (without her magic?) she cuts a figure of power and awe. Here is the queen that Dusk had looked up to, here the princess of a world intent on destruction; he had never doubted her stories but he has never so readily believed them as now. 

For all the magic that lives in him, it is not a word that has crossed his mind since seeing that billowing cloud of ash and darkness. Destruction, and the gods, and another disaster in a parade of them - all these things he had thought of, but never wonder, never awe. Not until now. 

He lets himself remember, as he crosses to her (and the shallow water of the beach parts to let him by) the day that they had met. The storm that had blown in then, proceeded by lightning that splintered the sky and ate up the shadows, by thunder that shook the trees and made their leaves shiver beneath the drenching rain. How alive she had been then, and how remarkable - and how his heart had leapt alongside her own. Asterion lets himself turn his back on the terrible darkness to press his muzzle into the crook of her throat, the curve of her cheek; he presses the star-marked plane of his forehead against the soft gold of her neck and inhales the scent of hyacinths. 

When he leans away again there is a new shine to his eyes, like some spark in her blood has caught in his own. 

"What comes next?” he asks his sister, and there is no fear in him even as he wonders and how will we survive it? 


Florentine — Dusk Court Citizen Signos: 15
▶ Played by Obsidian [PM] Posts: 333 — Threads: 45
▶ Female [She/Her/Hers] Hth: 20 — Atk: 20 — Exp: 56
▶ 5 [Year 498 Spring] Active Magic: Time Travel
▶ 15 hh Bonded: N/A
i'm a pretty flower girl
check out my pretty flower curls

Never has she longed to take something from Lysander like she does now. Upon that day, even as she hung her dagger about her throat, she knew that moments like this would come: moments when she feels so utterly detached, only one piece of a pair. Her dagger is a part of her missing and how her magic howls like a wolf to its dagger moon!
The child is a vibrant thing. It twists and turns, coiling and unfurling like the volcano’s breath that blots the sky. The magic that blooms here, at this volcano’s stirring, is nothing like what novus has known before. But Florentine knows it. This is a girl born into and raised upon wicked, changeable magic. There is no normal without a world ready to change and twist and morph itself into something so dangerously other.
Is she the only one smiling upon the beach? Is she the only creature that stands upon the edge of the cliff, leaning out as it crumbles in warning beneath her feet. Stone cascade into the thrusting sea, they rattle their voices like bars upon a cage. How loudly they urge her back and warn her, even as the roaring sea rises up to swallow them down, down, down beneath their frothing breakers.
Her heart is a storm summoner, it roils in her chest with the lightning, it laughs in her veins like thunder. Her head twists and swings, wild, imploring, keen. Exhileration makes her numb, it steals her breath and makes her ragged. She rears and the electric lightning strking from the volcano’s lungs illuminate her in a picture. An image that turns her into a statue, fierce and beautiful and pulled out of some other-world temple.
Other worlds are speaking, they are roaring through their volcanic mouthpiece and oh Florentine hangs upon their every word. She might have spread her wings then, she might have dared to throw herself from the cliff and fly as near as she could to the terrible island, were it not for Asterion.
He comes, steady as a rock to the wild of her sea. She turns to him with a gaze as bright as stars, she moves to his side, pressing against him, breaking upon her brother with the loyal adoration of an ocean upon land. In her ears is the crescendo of her blood and it is more than a hurricane’s howl yet she manages to hear him still.
What comes next?
She laughs timeless, endless. When did she begin laughing – was she always laughing? Would she ever stop this chiming laughter that ripples like bells and resounds like falling stars? “Who knows.” She says into his skin as her eyes close and she drinks in the smell of her brother. He is night and day and everything in between. He is the dank of the swamp and the gypsy dark of the Night Markets.
“But I think I have far more frightening news.” Florentine says, breathless and bright. She steps from him, to where she can hold him in the amethyst of her gaze, turning him into a boy held by petals and leaves. “You are to be an uncle and Lysander doesn’t yet know.” She smiles but there is a darkness behind it, worry for a father that has no idea of his destiny.
But, ever changeable, ever so easily distracted, she returns her gaze to the volcano. “This is the most normal I have felt in a long time. Things are meant for change, always. Enjoy what the magic brings us.”

@Asterion Flora and I are the most happy. <3

rocking your pretty flower world

She is clothed with strength and dignity, 
and she laughs without fear of the future 


Forum Jump:

Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)