A chrysanthemum character study :0
The clouded sun
"Sometimes I'm not sure if I'm making friends to be happy, or purely for the quantity."
Rysander turned to the angel of temperance, a smile playing on her cheeks. The time was nearly seven, and the sun was casting vibrancy across the sky despite the clouds that hid it.
"You're an archangel of temperance. You're literally, in both name and personality, the definition of self control."
The golden blonde self-consciously tugged at the toga that overlaid his actual guardian's uniform. It was a redesign of older formal-wear, he recalls. When was this design made- what was it- Five-hundred, seven-hundred years ago? He really only remembers the people from that time.
"What do you mean?" He half-heartedly lobs, torn between listening to Rys and loathing how those people had died so fast, hating how this piece of cloth had survived the weathering of time but not even their bones still existed beneath the gravestones he carved for them.
"Whatever you indulge in is calculated. You don't lose sight of your goals in making friends, and certainly won't blur the line between happiness and force of habit." The archangel of Justice elaborates, propping her chin into her raised knees. The sun had retreated behind the mountains now, showing one last flare of brilliance that would last a few minutes more.
"Hm. Maybe you're right." The Archangel is the one to smile this time, the light catching on the way his eyes crinkle. "The most flawless guardians of Osykes, Rysander and Chrysanthemum. We fit our roles best, after all."
Clouds gather overhead, the rumbling of them threatening lightning and rain later. A smattering of droplets begin to fall, down, down, onto both him and Rys and the roof that they lounged on. Chrys pats himself off and stands up, extending a hand to his companion.
"Want to go for a flight later on?" he offers, tugging up Justice.
"You know me too well" Rysander giggles, hopping through the window they came from. "I'll come knocking when I have time! You feel free too!"
Then she disappears into the candle-lit corridors, fingering the simple wood-clay walls.
Chrysanthemum wonders whether she'll come back. He wonders whether her death will be the thing that breaks him for good, or whether her absence would be absorbed too, a single raindrop under a sunny day's gluttony.
The angel of Temperance steps down the building, wings catching on picking wind.
YOU ARE READING
Random backstories ahoy
General FictionHeya! This's a book about my OC's backstories (as is already very obvious). Some uploads may be long, some may be short, but I hope at least some of them can give you the fictional respite you need! Good reading to ya'll :DD
