Dove x Gianna?
Dove x Alois?
Dove x Ludivine?
Dove x Mattheo
Dove x Frank Hybern?
Dove x Rhy's Dad?
Dove x Gojo
Dove x ME!!!
You have NO idea who i am. don't even try to guess!!!
Just 4 u, mysterious stranger.
Montesere is the loveliest nightmare I've ever had. I've followed the river running along the ceiling of the Palace of Splendors for what feels like ages, entranced by the rushing whispers flowing along in its current. Endlessly blue, stretching and branching like the grand oaks of Autumn, shining as bright as the jewels in their princess's eyes. A shiver crawls down my spine, and I try to turn my thoughts from her and her strange, too-still birds.
They say her tower is a grand, golden cage.
I tell myself I'm not curious enough to find out.
Turning and turning through courtiers and servants, I stumble and try not to flush at the rising whispers hidden behind gently fluttering fans. I wonder if the river will collect them, too. Wandering from prying eyes, I find myself in an empty hall. The ceiling arches overhead, barely visible in the darkness. It's cooler here than the rooms filled with revelers, and I take a minute to breathe. And another. Then I turn and properly look at the walls.
Hundreds, if not thousands, of heads line them. All of them silent. All of them still. Mounted in perfect rows, rising higher than I can see, their flesh painted and beautiful still. Even in death. I think I'm going to be sick.
"See, brother," a lilting, lovely voice sails through the silence, "I told you there would be a lost dove in need of saving." My breath freezes in my lungs. Slowly, I turn to take in their cold, ethereal princess and the sun-kissed male at her side. His eyes are dark, lit with gold, and the smile on his lips is more than a suggestion of wickedness.
I think I might scream.
"More fawn than dove, I think, Leonine."
"I don't agree. See the way her heart flutters? All bird." I stand frozen as they circle me, the night's coldest moon and the last ember of the sun, my voice trapped in my throat. Perhaps I am a bird, after all. They are as frightening as they are beautiful.
In the end, it isn't fear that renders me flightless. It is the brush of Leonine's cold fingers against my cheek. She smiles, and the sight is burned into my mind with cold, radiant fire.