#dantium

[novaeclan-a]

Ostium let out a shaky sigh. "Dantel... When Pictor and Aryanna died on Verusi. Something terrible happened. Worse than their deaths."

                                 Dantel stared in silence at his wife, finding his own chest tightening in anticipation and concern. “Ostium,” he said, reaching out to gently take her hand and squeeze it. “What happened on Verus?”

[novaeclan-a]

of gods and monsters.

                             Dantel sat  in the gardens of the Orikal estate, surrounded by the sweet aroma of black lilies and of humid air.  His pen moved across the thin piece of parchment in his hands, as he wrote down a collective set of words that formulated what  one could classify as a poem. Hestia had been very insistent of teaching her children such eloquent talents - Lysandi was far better, while Volans brushed it off, and Isla lacked interest. Dantel, however, enjoyed it. Though he would never admit it. He had a reputation to uphold, after all. However, he quickly became alert when he heard footsteps close at hand, and eased his hand over the paper. “It is rude to sneak up on people.”

[sixtybelow]

Hather was such a dull place, not like Peithos; it lacked music, energy. It was so tedious. Whilst Dantel leaned about in the gardens, while his father settled affairs with the king and queen, his siblings raced about playing a childish game of tag. Lysandi was chasing Isla, who had her skirts hiked up to her knee. Dantel would have joined them, but he lacked the energy or the will. Instead, he focused his attentions on a girl walking through the gardens. Beautiful. "Hello," he called to her.

Ostium wandered around the royal gardens. She was a goddess, and whenever she was on Hather, her priests always bothered her. She couldn’t leave their sight without all of them having a collective panic attack. They were so clingy, it was suffocating. A boy was talking to her. Not unusual. She wondered if he would let her fuck him. “Hi,” she responded. “You’re not from around here, are you?”