Disclaimer: This series is an LGBT slow-burn fiction that contains heavy politics and sensitive themes like profane language, murder, war, cultism, fictional religions, non-consensual events, PTSD, racism, substance abuse, misogynistic undertones, a...
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"Midnight holds much like an Ocean, it is a calling by the coasts, a taste by the shallows, and a pleasure of the swim towards the unescapable heart of it."
-Belladonna, Lady Luxury and Goddess of Debauchery
Ice kissed winds entered the carriage window to land on the cheeks of the Sailor, his face framed within nonchalantly attracting the snowflakes falling down The Graygreen province- tucked in a forest three mountains south of Dirge, bordering the Grasslands of Banar and the Syrosh'jhaal Tundras up north.
Between the boreal forests of fertility was the main road shadowed by sharp rock formations, kissing by the tip to form arcs of darkness above the snowy cobblestones. A landscape washed under the subarctic chandeliers of green dancing lights; and Ian'drah was counting each silhouette of night hunters gaming deep under unlit canopies, the leading profession of the province reputable as restless and rampant.
Warmth trespassed him as well as the Silver Lady was draped by his side like moss on pine since the beginning of the trip, the promising night grows young yet he misses his bed.
"Your friend was fairly tight-lipped though isn't he?" The Matriarch whispered as her fingers brush through the Sailor's chest hair and down the thick trail intersecting his navel. "As if he's a silent valley which makes your words echo within him indefinitely. All too reserved, all too hushed... He highly contrasts Lady Miriam's foul mouth you know."
Ian'drah had stopped his counting game, mind recollecting of Sion's eloquent cursing that morning.
The wheels trailed the frosted roads for an hour at least and the Sailor noticed how Drina often sneaks the conversation to Sion in the most innocent manner, the skills of a sharp tongue born with a silver spoon.
"You know what's funny sailor? growing up around petty politics made me understand how the silent ones among the squabbles are the most... dangerous."
Her blood moon lips crept up when the Sailor finally showed a sliver of attention at her.
"Danger is the last word to describe the likes of Sion, that lad could not even bring himself to hurt a fly."
"Though he looks like he would excel in doing so... hurting a fly." Malice crept up on her face as if thirst from intrigue took form as a smile.
"Drina, I share your worries on how Miriam is still dangerous enough to live among the Dirgeans but exceptions exist for her son." The Sailor bites down, he is aware of how Drina's cunning intellect hides beneath a spoiled noble façade.
"And how exactly is he different to be an exception from the latter? We know nothing of the thoughts lurking underneath your hooded lad, and you do well know that exception doesn't exist in the realm of the mind, Sailor, even in case of friendships." Drina crossed her legs, savouring this new-found power she had over the Sailor. Now she knows how to provoke her stern "lover".
