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‘ you shine light in even the darkest parts of me. you are my sun. ’

Ah, words fail her. Throat closes tight and leaves her SPEECHLESS. Such sentiments are not RARE for them, hardly unheard of. Misaya clears her throat and seeks her voice, cheeks flushed. “ your sun. “ She echoes, dizzy with thought.

His Sun. Her Moon.

That seems an apropos metaphor for them. Dancing celestial bodies, heavenly things of light && gravity. They are DEFINED by their gravity– He calls her SUN && she wants to tell him no– perhaps it is the other way around. He is the sun && she is the moon bathing in his light so that she may SHINE her brightest. She doesn’t even try, though, fully aware he will refute such an idea as this with his whole heart.

“ Moon && Stars. No sun compares to…what you’ve given me. I’d still be lost without you, you know. There are too many KIND things that could be said– you are the moon, you are the stars– the star. My true north, my guiding light– Perhaps you are all of HEAVEN to me. You are home. You’re…everything to me. “

#azothbladed #v / ( one. ) — thou was not born for death immortal bird. ( main. )#c. caster || paracelsus #SAVE.

“ we’re here to stay ”

“ I expect you to keep that promise, Paracelsus. “ Her voice comes across strong but her fingers reach, tug gentle at the crimson color bout his hair and tugs him down by unraveling ribbon, watches the braid come loose. ( Raises her arms, one end of the ribbon in each hand and pulls him down, down, down till she kisses him. )

Misaya is few of words when with KINDNESS, but the words in her heart are soft. He is all that she trusts and she will not LET him go. “ If you leave this time, I won’t make it so easy on you. “ She teases, pressed up against him and kisses him again, bites at his mouth.

#c. paracelsus #azothbladed #♚ — wrath winged cherub. ( ic. )#v / ( one. ) — thou was not born for death immortal bird. ( main. )

@azothbladed // continued.

He’s as accustomed to magic as someone undereducated and inherently resistant to it can be, much of the surprise in seeing something impossible replaced by curiosity as to the mechanics. (He lived in the age of magic, too, spoke with gods, though the air is so much different when proper magic is being done.) This isn’t exactly-- new, but the type of the magic is. So Hektor watches, carefully observant. (Even if he looks half-asleep, as always, he’s still attentive, gaze doesn’t waver from the proceedings at hand.)

He can stay. He’s patient, certainly, and interested enough to remain so. There are a few beats of quiet before Hektor speaks up with a question. He does try to keep his tone rather easy to ignore, should Paracelsus prefer to disregard speaking until the process is done. (It seems to require attentiveness, after all, with how carefully Paracelsus conducts himself.) “Where does the soul come from-- within the stone, or does the stone draw it forth?”

Maybe these are simple questions, Hektor doesn’t know. But even though this is something intrinsically beyond him, something he couldn’t possibly come close to performing or understanding fully (he can barely make sparks with his limited mana, manages intermittently lighting his blade ablaze, Paracelsus is eons beyond Hektor). Even so, he’d like to try at learning something.

#azothbladed

" you know how it hurts, you know what the pain will be worth. " // @azothbladed ❤’d

#azothbladed #❀ ❛ A COLOR OF THE SPRING TO SUMMER｡ ( ic )

* @azothbladed .

‘ What use is magic for the wretched souls, just as ours ? --- if it cannot cleanse, it cannot concieve salvation , it is nothing more than a useless toy ; a useless, useless, useless tool . It is nothing but a waste of breath , of time ! You are a servant just as the avenger, -- then why turn your face so foolishly , why do you oppose the order in such a senseless objective ? ‘

#Do not mind him #He's just doing another of his pointless crazy man monologues #azothbladed