Life had taken an unexpected divergence since the kingdoms had fallen beneath the oppressive weight of the wraiths, at least for most of the civilians of Helovia; Dragomir, however, was most always alone and trapped in stone rooms of a sort, dwelling on things that he knows to be true and that which he has been told. He dwells on the life he left behind on sun kissed beaches, the salty breeze as invigorating as the first layer of frost each season, and on this new one he has begun to build; he thinks on his friends, few as they may be, and his mistakes that would hurt them.

Most often, he lives within himself, unless there is something of interest to draw him out of his shell. Of late, that distraction has been Kahlua, the sparkling and divinely beautiful Glazier that has managed to fool the poor boy into believing that she is a kindred spirits of sorts, one who views the world through eyes of wonder and seeks to answer the questions that rise to the surface when the deep waters of the unknown are stirred.

It is not that he does not enjoy her, either way; she is kind, and generally keeps the conversations from stalling out when he lacks the proper conversational skills to continue with a fresh and new topic. Honestly, he can’t really think around her at all, as dazzling as her eyes are and as young as his heart is, and that he has managed to impress her somewhat with his ideas on crafting and other worldly matters (he surely hopes so, anyway) leaves him quite staggered with awe.

After all, he doesn’t deserve her kindness, or her laughter. He still hasn’t forgotten the sickness in his stomach the day after he and Ricochet had done what they’d done.

Today, he stands still in his thoughts as he looks on the falls that crash down into the pool in one of the side caverns. He’s spent the afternoon wandering almost aimlessly around the stone confines of the underground world they’ve all been shunted to, looking for diamonds with which to present Kahlua (he does many things out of desire to please his teacher) but finding that his efforts are in vain.

There are no gemstones down in this hole. It would only figure that he’d be left without a way to be of any use to her or his herd here; for all he knew, most of them were the walking dead, wandering aimlessly in the wasteland that had grown under the marching of their black hooves.

It’s not that he hopes that this is so; he truly wants them all to be safe.

But he’s perfectly fine being invisible to them.

@[Marco], @[Adele]

Dragomir</style>
where light shines, shadows will stretch</style>