10-02-2020, 08:57 PM
CrownS
Her magic is born from light, a nurturing sort of strength that serves as a balm against the darkness of this world. The curse feels her draw near and recoils from the blinding light of her. It has not fully bonded itself to the boy’s soul and she could pluck it from his core if she tried. But she only seems interested in caring for the side effects, for now, and so it quiets for the time being.
Crowns, meanwhile, wonders why he feels his temperature spike for a fleeting second when Isilya arrives. He whimpers at the scorching warmth and sways once it subsides again. But the Tephran queen is already working to soothe his fever, threading her magic into the stream and slowing its course to him. A tired grin forms on his face as the water laps gently against him. Gradually, the steam grows thin, though it lingers still.
“That does feel better,” he agrees. “What’s your name? I’m Crowns.”
He doesn’t realize that she already knows his grandmother and perhaps his mother as well. The boy lacks both the strength and the discipline to skim through the echoes of time to discern who she is or what she knows of him. In fact, it will probably never occur to him to just snatch these sorts of facts from thin air.
His dark blue gaze drifts to the hibiscus birds flittering above them. They draw a smile across his face, coupled with a gentle fit of laughter as he stares in wonder at them. “Are those yours? Do they have names too?” he asks without lowering his head to look back at her once more.
Crowns, meanwhile, wonders why he feels his temperature spike for a fleeting second when Isilya arrives. He whimpers at the scorching warmth and sways once it subsides again. But the Tephran queen is already working to soothe his fever, threading her magic into the stream and slowing its course to him. A tired grin forms on his face as the water laps gently against him. Gradually, the steam grows thin, though it lingers still.
“That does feel better,” he agrees. “What’s your name? I’m Crowns.”
He doesn’t realize that she already knows his grandmother and perhaps his mother as well. The boy lacks both the strength and the discipline to skim through the echoes of time to discern who she is or what she knows of him. In fact, it will probably never occur to him to just snatch these sorts of facts from thin air.
His dark blue gaze drifts to the hibiscus birds flittering above them. They draw a smile across his face, coupled with a gentle fit of laughter as he stares in wonder at them. “Are those yours? Do they have names too?” he asks without lowering his head to look back at her once more.