Wingbeats.

Deja vu consumed him. Sugared words and naive promises, the brightness of his own soul glaringly obvious in even his own memories. For long moments he prayed, though he was no religious man, that his ears had deceived him. Was it irony that drew them together one more time? Or some sick desire on the part of the Fates? For it was no trick of his mind or mistaken rustling of leaves that had teased and whispered into his aurals. Mercury eyes turned, slow and predatory, sliding over the waves and the pale sands that were devoured beneath them. Turned skyward. Like a falling star or castaway angel she was as bright and eye-catching as she had always been. Phaedra. A mere name to any other mortal, and yet to him so much more. His kryptonite, his crutch, his curse. She was both the knife six inches deep in the flesh of his back and the winged savior that pulled him from the depths of hell he so often called home.

Like an arrow she dives down, an osprey that skims the water, but she is far more magnificent than such a simple unimpressive bird. She does not have to spray the water about in liquid diamonds to attract his attention to her; she has always had it. Freely given, no returns, no desire to ever have it placed upon another. Maybe in past times she had been called captivating. Did they know how truthful such a statement was? They were the lucky ones, for he had been captivated in an entirely wholesome way, and he was chained to her forever. As they stood staring at one another, weathered and aged from their counterparts who had stood in their same positions seasons ago, he did not need to see her beauty to be reminded of why he loved her. Unlike those she ensnared and beguiled into her web of beauty with devastating lies that tasted of sugar, he had fallen in love not with the crystal creature she puppeteered, but the fearsome spy he had worked so hard to know.

A smirk teased pale lips, the two concealing that which connected them, their emotions, in favor of the same old game they'd always concocted. But he was no longer the innocent babe that had so cheerily replied to such words in the past. "Only with a beautiful dame at my side," he smoothly replied. He had grown wise to her words, had learned from them, and while she had metamorphosed into an enchantress he had taken a page from her book and embodied her. Perhaps he was no prince charming, far too bloody for such a pure title, but he was the devil's son with a seductive gaze and lips that whispered delicious sin into unsuspecting ears. They were far too evenly matched these days.

Like a predator he advances upon her, circling her slowly, feasting on the supple flesh beneath his gaze. Oh, she had changed, of that he was aware. No longer pristine, despite the magic that lured others into such thoughts. Tolio knew her body in every way one could know another, and noted each change that would seem invisible to any other. His own was scarred and hardened, but still as bloody and intense against the pale sands as it had always been. Coiling around he faces her once more, but his smirk has dissipated, gazing upon her with a fierce intensity. Words do not come to his tongue. What is he intended to say?

But she has always been his weakness.

Silver eyes soften and something like weariness hardens the chiseled lines of his face. "You're as brilliant as I remember. Though I'm sure you've had no lack of compliments." He had always been accepting of her ways, even if he may have desired a monogamous relationship he would have never demanded she change for him. But perhaps there is a tinge of jealousy, if she remembers him as he does her, one that only she could hope to detect these days. And maybe if she listens hard enough, she can hear the apology.

@[Phaedra]