#starseered

[fervonian]

you were shorter then. ( :) )

pre-established connections. | accepting.

the battle of dalu bay... that was the day irelia almost died. the details of that day are hazy in her memories, but she remembers the relief of her soliders, the relief she saw on the faces of her people as she walked past them after she recovered. the cold touch of death's hand at her neck; the memory of how her lifeblood ebbed from her open wounds still brings a clammy sweat across her back.

⠀⠀⠀⠀" shorter, yes. and angrier too. " the dancer breathes a wry chuckle at her own words.

⠀⠀⠀⠀her younger self deserves at least this; to have her anger acknowledged and understood instead of disparaged as her inner thoughts so often tend to lean towards. but the star - seer's gentle words and kindly presence never fails to put her at ease. " if it wasn't for your... well, divine intervention, i doubt i'd have lived to see today. " irelia's words are not rueful, or overtly apologetic. she simply recognizes the peril she was in that fateful encounter, and how lucky she was to receive soraka's timely aid. her fingers intertwine, slightly curved like the branches of a willow tree as she asks her next question: why me, and no - one else? " on that day, what was it about... me that stood out to you? "

[cupcait]

seer bathes in starlight, having been silent a long stretch until, finally, ❛ the stars pity you, caitlyn. ❜ something there when she casts gold to the other : their sorrow reflected, but not their cold resignation . she steps aside to make space in front of large arched window, an invintation, ❛ yet, you still stand. i do not think it would be unwise to show them. ❜

She did not think the starts noticed her at all .

To pity her ... it is a knife in her chest , salt in the wounds time has not yet been kind enough to heal . She'd never taken kindly to being pitied , conditioned to view it as degrading rather than anything rooted in compassion .

But , Soraka ... she speaks it so tenderly , with such grace & benevolence that it does not prompt a defensiveness . Caitlyn gazes upon starseer with curiosity , a hesitant step forward . She's considering her approach , subduing the impulse to voice skepticism .

Another step , quiet until she reaches Soraka's side .

' And ... what do they expect of me ? '

[bladeundone]

you don't have to talk if you don't want to.

̗̀ะ໒⋮━ FOR PEOPLE WHO DON'T SAY MUCH

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

No words come. She parts her lips as if to answer, but much like before, her voice fails her. It isn’t that she doesn’t want to speak—it’s that she can’t. How should one address something—someone—Elysian, to begin with? With utter reverence? With unbending honesty?

It’s… overwhelming, in a way Riven could hardly put into words. Golden eyes meet hers, gentle and knowing, and it only seems to pierce straight through her, stripping her bare of any pretence. None of it feels real. From the faint shimmer of her skin to the way it glows softly in the dim evening light.

She takes a shaky breath, her mind reeling. Maybe she drank one too many bottles of alcohol with her father earlier, but to call this a mere hallucination feels too dismissive, and tricks of the mind do not mend woods, do they? They do not sew them closed with a small dance of light, leaving no signs of it ever being there.

Riven feels small—unworthy—as if her voice would shatter the fragile stillness surrounding them, and what a sin would that be, to taint something holy and precious with her presence.

So she swallows hard and nods faintly instead, unable to trust herself to speak.

[essencefluxed]

@starseered | con’t

He was ready to go; his blue eyes still managing to light up brightly despite the darkness that had surrounded them in the shrouds of night. The sands of Shurima were more than unwelcoming; but his persistence was admirable; his excitement bulking within him—or was just pure & raw adrenaline? It was as if his feet had minds of their own, already starting to move before he feels her fingers curl around the sleeve of his jacket and the flesh of his upper arm, stopping himself briefly to look at here, those blue eyes, while bright, were strained with a tiredness from his journey to get here; but his mind was ready—His heart was ready.

“I appreciate your concern, Soraka! Really! But I’m SO close!” He could taste the Tomb of Ne’Zuk on the tip of his tongue; his body could go a little longer, he thought. He could push himself further and get there, and maybe he could get some answers.

Maybe he could find them.

His hand moves into his jacket, pulling out a small leather journal; old and worn, one of the last things he had left of his mother. He could hear her voice still, every time he read it. Pages are turned quickly yet carefully, a hum leaving him.

“The Tomb of Ne’Zuk was the last place my parents were seen before they dropped all communications. We’re so close, Soraka—I can’t stop now! I need to know what happened—The gauntlet’s the cherry on top, but…maybe I can find out where they are now. There’s gotta be clues there, and I gotta find out before something—anything, happens to that temple.”

A yawn leaves him, the blonde gently ripping his arms from her grasp as he continued to push forward; taking a deep breath as his gaze flickered down to the notes of the pages in his hand; gaze softening. He really should have taken a rest, but…he was anxious. Excited. Scared. Head turns to look over his shoulder, the explorer mustering the best grin he could in his tired state. “C’mon, Soraka! Once we get there and I find what I need, I PROMISE I’ll take a rest then, okay?”