❛ this is crazy. but, yes. ❜ from eritvita, to eros? 👋
Erosandros had been cordially invited to the College. Time and time again, were students, teachers, and many more strive to yank him by cottony sleeve to set foot within its snow-crusted walls. Time and time again, he would decline, for ribbons of paranoia wound taut around his throat—he feared questions, exposure, worse. An ache it was, to be naught but an anomaly, a man with indelible youth inscribed into flesh, flesh that long since should've become one with the nirn beneath.
But this time around, it was an offer he simply couldn't refuse.
Fright needled his spine, pulled the tendons of his fingers. As he stood, perched on the crown of the lecture hall podium, he was met with a myriad of looks. Some intrigued, some bored, some humoured by how his stature were to be swallowed by the height of the lectern. Regardless, he took it all in stride, and he delivered a disquisition of restoration magick. He even briefly showcased how restoration can be used offensively, which piqued a flurry of curious chatter betwixt students.
Eventually, all was done. He stepped off the podium.
He'd hoped he could've simply trotted off, circumvented any interested parties, and beelined straight to the next available wagon. Alas, rarely did things go as smoothly as one would hope. A man, presumably a student by the garb he donned, cut him off and sought conversation.
He let him talk. The more the student spoke, however, the more the student's proposal weaved into the unusual and strange. Erosandros quirked a brow.
"Please, do reiterate what you intend for me to partake in. Preferably," his violet gaze glanced to the exit that taunted him behind the student's form, "with more pertinent details?"
