[P] Between layers of midnight [Fall]

[Antiope]

drinking deeply of moonlight magic
and the rich golden hum,

Ipomoea had once told Antiope he hoped she would visit Delumine. When she heard about the celebrations they were holding for the autumn solstice, she thought it the perfect time to do just that. This season in particular her own court was not holding any large festivals, and things were still relatively quiet. The Denoctian sovereign had finally left all those months ago to create bonds, and she couldn’t keep herself locked away now if she wanted them to prosper.

She doesn’t quite make it to the court, for outside it, to the north, is a meadow full of stars. Or, so it appears. Antiope changes course and wades in among the glowing field. She finds not stars but shining blooms. She imagines this must be what it’s like to walk in the sky, and if ever once could say she looked more like a goddess it is with stardust lighting her eyes and framing her face.

A metallic sound distracts her, an Antiope turns toward the sound. There she finds a man, carrying upon is back a few baskets full of an assortment of items. A merchant of some sort. He is jangling his coins and watching her as a starving pup might. She doubts he is as worse off as he seems—she’s seen much poorer folks act with more dignity—but perhaps he at least had something worthwhile to offer.

The sun on his forehead is almost like a third eye, the sovereign observes, as she makes her way toward him. It sits proudly, almost unassumingly upon his brow. One could almost mistake it as a token of Solterra, a symbol of the origin of the goods he carries. She realizes, as she looks at him, that she has seen this man in passing in her own markets before.

Antiope eyes his offerings curiously. The foods are too sweet for her tastes. Sugar cubes and rolls that glisten in the light. Treats Moira or any self-deserving child would certainly enjoy, but not for herself. “I’d have thought the court would be a better place to market your wares,” she comments, glancing at the man.

The metal trinkets are cute. Charming, even, in their simple craftsmanship. She imagines Maeve’s face upon receiving one and considers for a long moment to buy. “Having much luck?” What the night court Queen wants to ask is who are you hoping will find you out here or who are you waiting for, but doesn’t. For the moment, she merely browses by sight alone.

"Speaking."

∞ | @Dune