"My lord," Cyril hummed in reply. Theo always preferred this title.
Theo asked, referring to the future they all would be witnessing, "Are you okay with what tomorrow brings? It's like privacy being snatched away, and secrets won't be secrets anymo...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
A HUSH, a silence as profound as the depths of the night, draped itself over the hall like a heavy velvet curtain. In the wake of the otherworldly events that had just unfolded, minds struggled to catch up, racing to process the impossible into reality. For those suspended moments, the gathered throng stood petrified, caught in the liminal space between disbelief and awe.
Not a syllable was uttered, not a breath drawn audibly. It was as if time itself had been momentarily stilled, granting this scene a surreal quality. All eyes were wide, expressions frozen in a mosaic of astonishment and confusion, as they grappled to make sense of the unfathomable beingness they had borne witness to.
Then, through the vacuum of sound, it was the dark-skinned youth who dared to shatter the silence, his voice resonating with a mixture of urgency and profound reverence. "Cyril," he bellowed, the word carrying within it the weight of recognition and respect, as if the very utterance of that name held power and significance. The multitude swiveled their gaze toward the enigmatic figure to whom the address was directed, a collective curiosity magnetically pulling their attention to the focal point.
There, poised on the edge of a table as if it were his throne, sat the subject of this utterance. Cyril, as he was called, appeared preoccupied with an ancient tome that seemed to have journeyed through epochs and held secrets of generations past. At the other boy's insistence, Cyril lowered the book, his actions deliberate and his demeanor one of composed intrigue.
"Where-" The question formed on his lips, but he checked himself with a flicker of realization. It wasn't his prerogative to pry into it. If there was a matter of importance to be divulged, it would undoubtedly come from the very person itself. With a swift course correction, he rephrased his query, the words now couched in a tone of quiet concern. "Everything alright?" His voice, almost a wispher.
Cyril acknowledged the sentiment with the merest inclination of his head, an unspoken acknowledgement of the inquiry that never escaped the lips. With the languid grace of one entirely in command of the moment, he allowed his gaze to drift, traversing the expanse of the hall and the faces therein.
Cyril's head lifted, his features emerging from the veil of his reading material. As gazes converged upon him, a collective murmur of gasps and astonishment rippled through the crowd, like the whisper of wind through a forest of secrets. His countenance was arresting in its aristocratic allure-dark, tousled waves cascaded to his shoulders, a strong jawline framed his features, and cheekbones cut a sharp contrast. Yet, it was his eyes that held them captive, pools of mesmerizing gray that seemed to carry within them a universe of unspoken tales.
In a heartbeat, their attention was drawn to his lips, a feature that curved with a hint of mystery and subtle intrigue. The hushed whispers and exchanged glances were a testament to his captivating presence, a magnetic aura that rendered them captives to his charm without him uttering a single word.
