thousands upon thousands of unblinking, invisible eyes watch as aventurine steps onto the empty stage. amethyst gaze traces the outline of the sea of deep red curtains hiding both him and the invisible audience from the view beyond, keeping them in this moment of suspension and silence where nothing else matters but the performance. distantly, he notes how much grander this stage is than his own. he notes the seats upon seats arching up beyond what he can see without forcing himself to look beyond the shadows.
aventurine has been told what happened, in so many words. he was told about the order and sunday's final act, was told about the dreams within a dream - about the dream master and his angels. and yet... somehow it only starts to click into place in understanding once he found himself stood here where it happened. when he found himself stood in the place where the final act took place - where sunday cast all of his chips into the pool and put everything on the line. and... failed.
the sound of familiar footsteps upon plush carpet doesn't quite stir the stoneheart from his thoughts just yet. not as he watches the almost imperceptible sway of crimson drapes at the back of the stage. his back is to sunday for the whole of his approach - as if turning around might send the angel running again. it stings, somewhere in the back of his throat, honestly. they both failed, really. aventurine failed to truly find the end he wanted - instead he unearthed something he still doesn't quite understand and the ipc has pulled his leash that much tighter. and sunday... oh, sunday.
"were you told i'd be here, angel? or... did you just come back to visit the stage again, reminisce on the feeling of the spotlight on your skin?" avgin's voice is soft, delicate even and edged with affection, as he speaks up to the drapes above - not quite daring to look back just yet. -> @wingspiked