I hear a calling somewhere near the gemstone waters, my puppy lifting her head in time with my own and switching both sets of our blue eyes towards the sound. This land is a quiet one for those who do not live in the ass of Seele and her court clowns, with few summons for such as myself and Skýlos; its life the way I prefer it, honestly, and I’ve found that the quiet pace of this kingdom (abandoning all memories of that dark trial in the caverns) is suitable to me, not the bustle and rush of my life in the palace that I had once fled in the middle of the night with my sisters.

My sisters. Where were they now? Circuta had never returned to me with any word of them, but it was almost as if I could feel them in the air around me, as if a single note from my lips sounding out into the haze of the horizon might summon them from the clouds themselves.

It is not true, I know this. All I have is this faint and humble cry that dies under the drone of the bees and birds and it is such a desperate notion that I chose to follow it rather than ignore having ever noticed as I usually do. It’s hard to pinpoint the core of my aching, difficult to admit that my heart is still soft beneath all these years of venom and armor, slowly thickening with the passing grains of my hourglass; I am lonely.

Ever so lonely.

In all my years among them, the slaves of my youth had never been viewed as more than what I had paid for them, how many others I had exchanged for their face; I had never come to see them as they were – the only emotional support I had in my life aside from my siblings, the select men I had almost loved despite the curse of my blood and the women who had braided my hair and kept my blue coat shining. They had been my pillars, and how callously I had neglected the beauty of their architecture; how deeply I miss the strength of their lines. Perhaps this weak voice crying out to us over the rolling hills is lonely too, as desperate within himself as I am. Perhaps he can hide it as well as I have, as I still do.


Skýlos slips into the clearing he has selected before I do, time having lent her much height and speed, and while in her younger months I had cussed her uselessness and wingless body, I have discovered that she is swift enough on the ground to keep up with my flight above, and it is pleasing. That, and she is never far, and always sweet; even now she feels my sadness welling within my heart and she laps tenderly at its bitter water, her thoughts warm as if a shawl blanketing me from the chill of the evening wind.

My pupiless eyes fall upon the midget summoner, a grow arching high on my ever so beautiful face and my tail swishing with genuine wonder behind and alongside me, neck arched with added grace to add to the grandeur of my appearance. I know few here, its too easy to slip into old habits when presented with such stress as encountering numerous strangers; surely I am not the only one who will answer him.

Perhaps I might be. Skylos circles the clearing in a broad, insane circle before plowing to a stop alongside me, small flecks of dirt spattering against my side and breaking my pristine elegance into fragmented scowls and annoyance as my eyes slam down towards her.

She is already on her back, too aware of my temper.

Using my tail to flick away the brown spots on my pelt, I raise my eyes upwards to look again at the punitive fluff that seems to have some importance in this land but none of the confidence to uphold the weight of the mantle (or perhaps he is too overwhelmed by the grand volumes of fabric made for a man of true size). Either way, I’m not impressed and likely will not be in the moments to come.

The black bell. How it taunts me when I am not alone, even when I have been driven to the brink of desperation by my need for this moment. It chimes above the frantic throbbing of my heart as I try and settle within myself, to ignore his tiny build and his masculine existence and how very disgustingly useless he is without wings or physical prowess.

In Elysia, he would never have been sold. He’d have remained in the stone pits from birth until death, too small to serve as a soldier and too male to be a handmaid. At times I pity this land and its acceptance of weakness, how it bleeds and sours under the weight of all these useless mouths.

I want to ask him if he meant to call the crafters to build him some stilts; I refrain.

Princesses have tact, after all.

" Kaló apóyevma," I hail, though he probably does not speak my native tongue as no one in this damned place does, "why do you call into the dale?"

[ OOC: Translation of the greek above is a more formal way to say good afternoon. :3 Sorry I’m a bit late! I’ve been neglecting Cealestis lately with all I have going on. *pets her sadly* Buuuut I’m here now and YAAAAY Wilibald time! I’m sorry she’s such a butthat because he's cute and she's just a bitter old moose of a woman. :| ]



C e a l e s t i s</style>
who knows how deep the heart runs</style>