09-08-2021, 04:03 PM
selaphiel
Things he will never understand.
And he wanders freely now because winter keeps the clouds low and fat-bellied and the sun cannot penetrate them. The cold seeps into the meat of his lungs and makes them ache and this is a familiar thing, the pain of it, and he is grateful for it. If only because it gives him something to focus on, something that is not his last interaction with Mazikeen.
(He is desperate for anything else to think about.)
He wanders because the slate gray hue of winter suits him just fine, this angel carved from ice, even if the cold is bitter. He wanders and he wonders where Este is, if she has chased the sun to someplace else and he hopes that she has found warmth, wherever she is.
He is in the middle of remembering the stench of death that had covered her like a shroud in the darkness when he happens upon someone. He half-thinks he might have divined his twin just by thinking of her, but this is someone else entirely. Someone unfamiliar and he knows that the only reason they are strangers is because he still makes himself scarce.
(Or perhaps he has made himself scarce again. He had been comfortable here once, when Mazikeen had told him he could stay. But then she had changed and he had begun to wonder again when he might be cast out.)
He tilts his head, studying the crescent moon. “Hello,” he says, aware that he has been seen, “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Selaphiel.”
I just bite my tongue a bit harder
@bolder