the angel was mesmerizing to alena. deft fingers, delicately sharp features, lilting voice, and there was this aura about him. this feeling of spring, summer, and frost all in one. life and death carbonized, crystallized. the nymph thinks they could watch kowaru forever. when the angel stops playing, alena gently presses against keys, just to see how it felt to play.
“why do you say that?” it was an unexpected answer. angels were always painted to be creatures of light, faith, grace. though eni knows more than anyone that human interpretation of other beings was unreliable at best. they scoot closer to kowaru, always fond of physical touch. “my siblings have said that, too. i always thought it seemed nice–”
“ .. well.. “ a hollow reverb echoes throughout the room; why would he say that? this caught the angel off guard and yet .. how was he to explain this to the nym. a bold question, at best. hope is what you make it, hope is waking up in the morning and looking along the confines of your surroundings. hope is the look in your pets eye when they see you or in the words of those who pray. all of these answers would of sufficed. but kowaru.. he sits in silence for a moment before fingers reach to carry along the porcelain, starting a beautiful excerpt that trailed and hung on the last cord-
“ i was born to this earth with hope stitched into my creases, you see. hope is created by the heaviness of the world; expectation. with hope comes the expectation of something positive to come with it. that’s not realistic. i can hope until the day i return to the heavens but there’s no guarantee in it. “ a hand reached to idly brush against the locks of the nymph, cherry orbs shifting to look among them. a smile formed momentarily, only to be shifted as he turned to look at the piano once more. “ instead of hoping for something, strive for it. go and get it instead of relying on hope, is all i’m trying to say. “