Moonlit Memory [Julius & Ishtar]
@queen-ishtar sent : 🌕A full moon night with wind whistling through the trees
The night had come to be a comfort, emptying hallways of prattling courtiers, dispersing peasants from the streets, and signifying the end of long, exhausting duties to keep his country running as it should. The recent years had seen to ending Julius’ rule, however, and banished him to anonymity in Grannvalean politics, and though he should have been relieved (he was no more than a child when it came to true governance, after all), the memory of his fall from grace often set him pacing with frustration. Late-night walks had become a remedy.
This habit persisted even as he found himself suddenly warped into a new kingdom - the kingdom of Askr, a servant (or was it the prince?) had informed him. He was deemed a “Hero,” and Julius decided at once that he quite liked the place. No one scorned him for the mark on his brow, but bowed to his power as a talented mage, and the malicious voice he remembered dwelling in his head during Jugdral’s war had abated and could be controlled. When he held the tome, the mighty Loptous lent him his power and thirst for blood, but when he released it, the malice went with it. His disgraced life in Jugdral could not compare to the intoxication of being worshipped again.
But he heard whispers in the halls, slanderous gossip that could be started only by those who had known him in Jugdral, that dug at the foundations of his new life and ignited his frustration and paranoia once more. Deep in the night, he departed the castle with the intent to burn those feelings away.
A full moon illuminated his path, but both the castle town and the surrounding forest were empty of life. No nightingales sang their lonely songs, no tree frogs called to the night, only the wind whispered through the trees. Whispered like those cursed gossips, and Julius fantasized about how satisfying it would be to set them all ablaze. The trees. … and the people.
The narrow trail led him through the woods toward a stream, dappled by moonlight through the canopy. Where there should have been fireflies, there were none now, as if sensing his coming had sent them into hiding, and even the trees had fallen silent and expectant. Julius surveyed the clearing. The wood here would burn well, he decided.
And then his eye fell upon a figure at the riverbank. The slope of her shoulders, the cascade of silver hair down her back, the glimmer of jewels at her ears and collarbone, all hued in a dreamy monochrome, awakened feelings that had long-since fallen dormant, incited a pull of familiarity, and Julius found himself moving toward her as if drawn by a string.
“Ishtar?” he asked. “I thought you were… dead?”