[private] wanted and wild

[Leoniidas]

some memories never leave your bones.
like the salt in the sea; they become a part of you
- you carry them.

 

Elliana was gone and oh how her parting ripped this boy in two. A part of him, the piece which had grown to want and need the presence of others around him yearned for them not to part. And yet, the piece of him that has never been tamed, that makes him flinch at the touch of others relaxes his muscles at their distance. It seeks solitude, it years for the wicked, wild wilderness edges that this new world promises him. Ah, it would be so easy, Leoniidas thinks, to fall into the fraying edges of this world, where wildwood boys will slip away into forgotten places. There he will be pulled apart by magicks greater and wilder than his own. 


So he flies, he drifts away from the place where Elliana and he blinked into existence here. He runs across the fly, fleet-footed and free, free, free. But his freedom is a lie. He runs for his guilt is there as chains around his limbs. It weighs down his soul and tears his heart into tatters. Oh to think of it! To think of all the love his magic has erased! His family gone. Apsara who made his heart begin to race, who made him yearn to touch and kiss… she is gone too. They are all gone. 


Except him and Elliana. 


And oh how he touched her to remind himself that she was real and not a dream, a ghost girl here to haunt him as the phantoms once haunted her. Yet she is real and she brought them here.


Down, down, down the boy dips, tumbling out of the sky in gold and brown. He lands amidst the meadow flowers, the wildwood full of the scent of strange, chaotic magic. Ah the feral taste of it upon his tongue is sweet and dangerous. He swallows it down like an elixir and lowers his lips to a flower. The brush of lips across petals is soft and normal. The sea of plants tickle at his knees and abdomen as he folds his wings tight against his muscling sides. 


There is only the sounds of parting grasses, of flowers bending, rustling, bowing. Leoniidas’ tips up his ichor gaze beneath his forelock and settles it upon the newcomer. Do they know how he smells so otherworldly? Do they taste the strange magic of Khiyaal upon his skin as he tastes the strange magic upon theirs? Time trips around them, stumbling over itself as the boy watches, watches, watches and waits.

“Speaking.”

credits


[For a star child <3]