❛ But you are trés beau, no? ❜ Very beautiful.
❛ Too much to stay unclaimed. ❜
Looking at the human—being, creature—before him, Cecil stops to shower praise. There is something vibrant about the hair—yellow and an orange that bleeds nearly into red with the fading of the sun. Beside her—him, it—he is almost too pale in comparison: porcelain skin, silvery hair, eyes that always liquid mix of pinkish-purple pastels.
Fiyero had been much the same, a vibrant hue that seeped into his skin, his soul; there is a lack of the bard's easy warmth here however, that tells him to keep his distance.
Naturally, Cecil takes a step closer instead.
❛ Or did the Stars pluck you up and placed you here alone? ❜