✵ (paraskia)
Send me ✵ to catch my muse under the mistletoe!
It was odd, to say the least. To the point of making Shaka face up, as if he would actually look at the mistletoe hanging right above them. His mind’s eye, however, faced the abyss between their feet.
There was a time, he remembered it as well as a vivid, old dream, in which he would actually laugh at it, taking pride in telling the older man about the pagan roots of the Christmas tradition; a time in which he would consider planting a kiss on Saga’s cheek, though he would certainly need his help to reach his face, to begin with.
That time was long gone.
“We seem to be constantly challenged by what lays above our heads,” he remarked, remembering the one time they met under a blood moon. “I suppose you do not partake in Christmas traditions either.”
Saga was possibly the closest he had to an equal amongst the Gold Saints. He was also the only one, Shaka realized, he couldn’t quite place; couldn’t really figure his way around.
That certainly said more about him than he had expected.
{ @paraskia }
