LANGUID MOVEMENTS stretch with a playful laziness, golden beams hazily dance through archways in this sparking edifice of theirs. Fine sheets left in forgotten tangles as soft white hangings buffer the light of day’s call. But here there is a delicious normalcy to this ritual, one that is carefully kept secret with all but the one who still sleeps softly beside her. Pale skin vibrant and ethereal in the new morning, as dawn’s early call incites the birds to sing in the forever flowering trees, trees that know not time nor hardship - an effigy of arogance . Their gentle perfumes a pleasure for them, and them alone.
As she rolls closer on the soft mattress of this gilded frame, so imprinted with the artistic majesty of the People, of the Artisans of her brother June, it feels as if all in the world is may well be for them and their amusement. The bird song, the way the dust plays in the light, the way her hair glistens spun gold against her radiance. Even the monochromatic association between them, perfect contradictions in form and color seems as by design to enhance their beauty, enhance her beauty. For is she not all the more magnificent for having Andruil’s fingers gently brush her cheek, those warm digits pushing against the chill of her curling tresses?
A deep and breathy laugh flutters from lips that press a kiss against her collar, tracing them up the silken smoothness of her neck as she speaks. “ Love, we best rise, the sun has ascended without us.” Calloused fingers, etched in tiny scars trace up her side, feeling the cool softness of the cloth mixing with the heat of her lover’s skin, “ Think what the people would say, if they knew the sun rises without us. ”
Another laugh, this one warmer and louder as her lips touch Ghilan’nain’s cheek a final time, before parting, though her fingers hover upon her hip, stubbornly refusing to be separated so soon. “ Come, a sunrise is a pale - inelegant thing without your presence beside it. ”
@ghilannaiin