she knows it's hard to be separated from the only family that truly cares. the bond of siblings is not one that is easy to ignore, she knows this all too well. which is why she pulls the isle boy close, nimble fingers stroking at his cheek & painted lips pressing to his forehead. her lips are cold, if only for a moment, but there's a reason to it, as the chill spreads upward & then out, small fragments of ice clinging to starlit hair mere seconds later. "i'm sure he's proud of you." ... "i am."
what’s it like, to have people be proud of you? / @iskalld !!
when it’s time for the royals of auradon to arrive, from all corners of the land, the princes and princesses, magical beings of fairytales ---- it’s the one time he vanishes, nary a whisper nor utter of his presence from anyone he doesn’t wish to find him.
the school is a glorious, beautiful place, with more nooks and crannies than one not a villain might know what to do with -- but perhaps it’s cruel irony that leads him to this place, where a roaring fire crackles in the departure of winter months, where she finds him, in turn, as she knows to.
how she’d come across him, how he’d become so attached, is a tale he’d rather not tell -- only that he has the utmost of faith and trust in her, out of any other person of light, kindness, goodness, in all of auradon.
well -- save for sora, of course ; but it’s a different kind of feeling, there.
he’s gazing out at the isle, seen clearly from this room’s windows opposite the fireplace, the couch upon which they sit -- and perhaps that’s why she speaks, why she says what she does. the coldness in his heart pierces harder, freezing over his heart with fear - but her hands, calm and nimble, beautiful, pale like his, reach as if to soothe away every frown, every frustrated, upset furrow of his brows.
they do just that, really - calm, soothing hands so gentle on his cheeks, a kindness of which he knows so little, practically non-existent in any parental bond. lips upon his forehead smooth his eyes to a close, lashes brushing upon his cheeks, briefly pink, just as feather-light. he feels it, though, the magic there -- the one that sends chills down his spine that are anything but bad, the fractals she finds great amusement in placing in his hair.
( he’d admit to her, and perhaps one more, that he liked them - the way they caught the light, all white and bright blue, looking cold as ice but feeling as warm as her love, appreciation, adoration, and glimmering all the brighter for it. )
while these moments usually bring him great joy, internally, this time it strikes less so - concern, guilt, wrap ‘round his heart like a vice, a two-time beat of what-if, what-if, what-if?
“ ...... i left him there for a long time. ”
all alone, with their uncle who couldn’t care less - just thinking about it makes his hands curl tight into the blankets by his sides, heavy dread settling in his gut. he’d been lucky to leave, he knew that; had taken the opportunity despite his own protests, because his brother had insisted,
“ you don’t know what it’s like there. without me there to protect him---- i don’t know if he’d ever want to see me again. ”
all he wanted was to bring him here, to show him the good and light that he, too, deserved -- even if that hadn’t been his original plan, that’s what his heart was telling him now.
“ i worry he hates me. for abandoning him. i don’t think i could handle it. ”
