Words have power.
Something the prince of stories knows all too well.
Every word has some level of power, some have more than others. When words are combined in just the right way, the power reached can be incomprehensible, even to the prince. These are the laws of his realm and all others, as well as an explanation for his love of poets.
But the man before him is not a poet except for in dreams. This man is normal, mostly, and words are not his strong suit. Still, every word he uses strikes a powerful cord within the prince of stories. Even the weakest word on the man's tongue is enough to paint pictures in the story prince's vision and send shivers up his spine.
"Dream?" A magic spell, that is the only thing the prince of stories can describe his name as on that man's tongue. It takes the shape of a dove, graceful and beautiful as it has no right to be. Hope, or a sign of it at least, as it flutters to roost in his chest.
"Hmm?" the prince hums back. He notices it as a cautious mouse scurrying across the table to meet the man's nervously tapping fingers. Hob, he dares not speak the man's name now, lest it take some form he has yet to consider.
"I have to tell you something, okay? And I need you to promise not to freak out." This manifests itself as a butterfly, gentle and hopeful as its flight bounces above the table. It carries a burden far too heavy for it, causing its flight to falter, dip and rise again.
"Promise." The word was easy. His trust and devotion make it an easy promise to make. With the low whisper, the butterfly grows, infused with the strength it needed to carry its burden.
Hob sighs, blowing away the butterfly like it is made of mere smoke. Perhaps it was. Then he smiles, a mind numbing smile that can not be expressed through silly words. The prince of stories is so enraptured by the smile, a smile just for him, that he can't be bothered to describe it.
"Dream..." The dove is back, this time with streaks of black feathers like a raven and inky eyes filled with stars. "I love you."
And the pleasant kitchen explodes. Counter ripped up from its place. Mugs shattering and the broken pieces flying about like demons. Coffee raining down from the cracking plaster of the ceiling.
The prince of stories tries his best to focus back on reality, using the milky brown eyes consuming him as anchors. But those little hearts beating where Hob's pupils are supposed to be is just a tad bit distracting.
"I... um..." a low stutter, for the prince of stories is completely at a loss for words. He raises his arms, crossing them over his chest so they don't senselessly reach out. He closes his mouth, shutting off the out of tune attempt at words scurrying from his lips. Seconds more of this and he'll stand up and storm out. Blush trembles across his cheeks, turning him crimson. Seconds more of this and he'll have to retreat in a swirl of sand.
"Hey, you promised!" A butterfly forms, only to spasm and land awkwardly on the table, wings sprawled and twitching.
He had promised. This accusation, a dagger to his heart.
Sometimes, despite the rules, a situation requires more power than what can be offered by words. Sometimes, even with all the words at your disposal, they still fall short. Sometimes, dialogue isn't the best way to express how you feel.
Forgotten instinct takes over as the prince of stories leans over the counter. His hands fall to rest on either side of Hob's face, finding a place they know they belong. Their lips meet, Hob's surprise quickly melting into passion that rivals the prince's.
Sometimes, words aren't enough. Sometimes, they fail. Sometimes, actions speak louder than words.
