H U Y A N A
the world is drowning

The rock begins to erode - he cocks an ear in her direction, no doubt entertaining her lament. Foolishly, she wonders what story he has, or if he simply thinks of her as a misfortunate girl, lost in the stale grasp of a perpetual winter-land. He seems, perhaps, a little humored by her grievous words; the cogs which operate underneath the skin and flesh of his face betray stoicness for contemplation. With heavy eyes, she regards him; tracing the masculine line of the jaw, the brusque placing of those blue eyes that remind her of death. He personifies her grief, her fears - but he calms her with the allure of it, the blackness, the infinite void. She restrains herself from plunging into the depths of his dark magic; she has time still left, she has a world to change. By recalling the imminence of the end, he also becomes the beginning of life in its purest form. Perhaps she is looking too far into his persona. Is she trying to find herself trapped underneath the blackness of some dark stranger's skin?

The lean face twists to face her, and for a fraction of a breath, blue is against blue; life against death, endlessness and inevitability. She does not turn from his gaze, nor does she flinch. She watches him placidly, almost inquisitively, although the lines of her face contract subtly with the affliction of a life lived with sorrow and far too many disappointment, but also of triumph and joy; the face, set with an expression of empathetic irony, reveal many more years than the four she has seen.

He speaks, the baritone of his voice echoing slightly against the nearby fortress of ice. She listens intently, raising a delicate brow at his query. Should she reveal her secret to this stranger; have him see how vulnerable she truly is? Does he seek to twist her, break her, bend her out of form? She searches almost sluggishly for the answers, ears tilted back in contemplation.

Hesitation, tense and critical, shadows across her face.

"Huyana", she sighs finally, feeling the weight of it slough off her mind like the dead skin of summertime snake. She feels her inhibitions fade; her burdens escape, perhaps to search for another to plague. A brief smile graces her lips - the smile of one who has divulged a secret held since ancient times, only to be carelessly shed for a pretty face. Another would be flattered to know that his ears were the first to hear her true name, she thinks, glancing away briefly, but Huyana has a feeling that Deimos would not be proud, and she thinks to his dire gaze, the countless lives spent beneath a glance.

How lucky he is, the rainchild thinks sardonically, once again watching the lazy descent of snowflakes, vaguely wondering what he will say next.