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02-13-2016, 06:34 PM
Cold, twisting, evening air nestled amidst their wandering, and she bartered against it with a gentle whisper and a fiendish longing for distraction. Imogen pressed her claws into the sands and hissed feral incantations against the swirling tides, and Lena laughed at the foolishness of it; but the gentle swell of sound and sonnets would die away quickly, decaying in the aftermath of nothingness and ambiguity. Her eyes would catch a midnight gull snagging at fish caught in a tidal pool, or the swift, soulless action of the sea and all its force, all its might, dragging out granules of the dunes and leaving ivory shells behind. Then they’d move on, restless and abandoned, desolate and forlorn, trails of ice and snow, fettered and frayed, remnants of fortitude and might; cast away rime. The pair might’ve even chased after the pending sunrise, the foretold dawn, the augured morning, had the sound of another’s approach resounded against rock and rubble – the Mender’s ears twisted in various directions, snagging on the pockets of soft, dulcet motions, and the pale kitsune, forever, eternally protective, released a molten sibilance. But the Songbird shook her head, forgoing Imogen’s vigilant, violent temptations, because she recognized the creature roaming the shadows, despite the years and seasons spanning his careful perusal. “Good evening, Roux,” she tipped her head in greeting, always providing refinement, dignity, and affability, even in the face of the unspoken abyss, of the trials and tribulations glorified and receding. The length of her crown twisted in genuine curiosity and speculation – remembering the lad as a boy beside his twin brother, disciples and descendants of her predecessor (and where had the Doctor gone, precisely? Had he disappeared as the rest of them all eventually did, whittled away by time, by space, by torturous trials and merciless hours?). They’d been taken once, with their mother Kou, stolen and absconded, and then she hadn’t truly known what became of them thereafter, hadn’t followed their paths once they were liberated and released. His eyes were still pale, and she presumed still incapable of sight (could nothing heal them, or did he choose to remain that way, something he’d always known?) despite knowing who she was within the veil of night. It was a relief to know that one of them still remained amidst this earth, not cast aside, not mired and ruined, not spurned and shackled, and at this, she proffered a whimsical smile. Thereafter, her lips bestowed a fine aria, christened and anointed, enchanting and nymph-like, stoking over fairy ethereality, hiding away the rubbled, ruined adornments of her soul. “How are you faring?” Lena |
@Roux
