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06-14-2013, 12:57 AM
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But when his heart was lifted up, and his mind hardened in pride...
Quilyan
...he was deposed from his kingly throne, and they took his glory from him.
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He is very grateful for the healer that saved his life, for it is only in retrospect that he realizes just how far he had fallen. He is not unfamiliar with Death, the deposed prince, but never has he himself drawn so near His door. Marwolaeth, they called the god of death back home, but here such a name has no place, for this land is ruled by its own strange gods. He himself, though not disbelieving, cannot worship these new gods without guilt, so instead he thanks the Mother - Mhysa, he calls her - for his good fortune. It is a silent appeal, but it is there nonetheless, as he no longer has a godswood in which to worship. He has not seen a forest of many-colored trees since leaving Thor'qui, and he finds that he misses them sorely, though he took them for granted while he was there. The prince is thankful, too, for the mare walking alongside him and for the companion perched on his poll. Without them, he likely would not have lived to see this day. It is a bright morning, for the sun always seems to be more luminous in Frostfall, and it is brighter still for the reflection upon the waves. The sand is golden beneath his hooves, and though the breeze is chilling, the earth is warm. Waves crash to his right, a soothing sound; to his left, his lady walks. She is beautiful in the sunlight - well she is beautiful always, in his eyes - and he find his gaze locked on her, a dreamy half-smile on his lips. He had never thought to love like this, not before the revolution. He had bedded a different fae every night back then, but this one... This one had captured his very soul from the beginning, and now that he has fought and nearly died for her, he cannot seem to break the spell that she has cast. Not that he tries to. It is a blessing that he has been given; perhaps the gods are making up for his losses by bequeathing upon him the perfect mare. He corrects himself: she may not be perfect, but she is perfect for me. Zarina stirs, sitting up and yawning rather comically. The breeze ruffles her fur, and she shivers before settling back into a little ball. She, too, has grown to love the fae that is not the prince's mate, though she does not understand what it is that makes this so. By her account, they ought to be mated and done with it already. Though she does not remember her parents nor their lifestyle, by some instinct she believes that mating is for life, and so it should be with her companions. Sensing the thought, Quilyan chuckles softly to himself, his violet gaze softening as he watches Resplendence. He feels reborn, having been healed. They had been ordered to rest, and rest they had, but even still they chose to take it easy. Well, Resplendence had decreed that they would do so; given the chance, Quilyan would soar through the skies with glee. His wings scare her, though, and so he remains firmly on the ground and at her side. |
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Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
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Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
Want to plot with Quilyan? Visit his plot page here!
