Rain pours. The week has been a long one, full of wet, misty showers laden with a characteristic chill of Orangemoon. Today, however, it does not drizzle; curtains of the sky’s tears fall, an icy drenching for the earth below. It is not a life giving rain. It kills the life it touches; withered plants crumple underneath the cold, heavy drops that plummet from above; dying leaves are stripped from the boughs they hang from, leaving the trees naked and defenseless against the onslaught of the heavens.

Reginald stalks underneath the shelter of pines, for the oaks and the birches have no respite for him. There is no wind, and the grey-eyed prince is thankful for that, for it would tear through him effortlessly as though he were a ragdoll. Already his drenched coat clings to his bones painfully, and he shivers underneath his skin. His breath comes out in ragged wisps—but he has grown. He doesn’t lose his breath so easily; despite the cold, he is able to walk through the ropes of rain, and he can think.

The burning within him intensifies. It warms the insides of his joints; it fills the void of the gem in his breast, an artifact lost before he fully understood its function. Something was torn out of him on the day of the fire, but he does not know what. He only knows he cannot remember why he cried that day. There was terror, surely, and he has every movement and action he made on that day well documented. The reasoning behind his actions escapes him, though. The motivation is veiled. Surely the image of the fire still excites him to some degree, but as to the tears he shed upon the screams he heard, the lurch of pure horror and the anxious thoughts toward his brother—well, those are nothing but lost muses.

“Abraham,” he suddenly says, for his brother has crossed his mind, and he does not know where he resides. He peers into the shadow of the forest; it is early evening, but the clouds above cancel out whatever sunlight that tries to filter, and it is quite dark despite the time of day. The vault of the forest rings with the pounding rain, the animals flee from the chill of the near-frozen water, and Reginald stands in the protective shadow of a pine, grey-eyes searching for his womb-mate.

"Abraham."


@[Abraham]
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