table © Alaine
ooc: was listening to dinosaur by kisschasy when writing this :3
The sun blazed out further and further, it's valiant death a grand display that filled the world and filled the youth's heart. There was nothing quite as splendid, quite as breathtaking, as watching such a brave decease as that of the golden orb. Descending night tickled his skin, and once more, the teen reflected on his missing half - He the day-dweller, the cloud-watching blue-eyed story spinner; She the moon-mistress, the soft-spoken violet-gazed truth seeker. The slate male let his entrancing sights drift closed, felt the wind ruffle in his pelt, imagined it to be the gentle caresses of an old friend.
When the music lilted up gaily, his floppy ear twitched, and a sense of stillness stole the youth's frame. A sense of waiting. A sense of exhilaration. And even before she was seen in the moon-light dappery, he knew her voice to his core, held fast to the beautiful trill of her song.
And there she was, across from him, the zephyr swirling fireflies about her slender body.
Her beauty stole his breath away. Flushed with the pleasure of her bow, the young lady watched him watch her, her beautiful violet eyes shining just the way he remembered them too. How long had she been away this time? A month? Two? His heart shivered painfully in it's cage of ribs. She said his name, then, and the shiver became a visible quiver, the only motion that he was alive but for those animated sky-blue eyes. Caillen sat, stock still, a statue upon his hilly throne.
" Hello, Sylvie."
His voice was surprisingly cold, even to his own ears. Was that hurt that laced it's husky depths? Was it pain, quivering deep in his gradually baritone-deepening voice? And to his surprise, for the dreamer had always foregone the intensities of his own spirit, Caillen realized just how much he'd missed her, just how much her absence had torn a hole in him. There was no goofy smile to welcome her return, no clumsy gallop, no childish re-union. Sylvie had left Caillen a pining pup, and had returned not to that hopeless soul, but to a young man who knew more about his world than the dreamer ever wanted to. He knew a blade in the heart. He knew betray. He knew the touch of a woman, the blood-stir of desire.
And, looking upon this picture of her, this young lady with the moon-glow eyes, he knew the pain of true love, not a childish crush.
Speak think walk
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