Princess of the Phrost (the miniseries): Creation

Pairing

 Every night Aymon stood in the shadows, watching the woman's delicate hands fly across the canvas, listening to her heartfelt tune until the sun rose whisking her away. He often parted his full lips to address her, but the words never came out. He couldn't bring himself to interrupt the beautiful melody; it seemed to illuminate the darkness around them. All his life Aymon had lived for the light, loved it, but now the young prince was willing to embrace darkness if it meant embracing it with her. Once classes started, Aymon found himself consumed with work. Zelarians used a much greater percentage of their brains than humans so his intelligence and ability to absorb information was far greater, but he struggled with actually writing. Majority of the things the professor described as profound, Aymon thought were mediocre at best and the opposite of inspiring.

"I want everyone to go to the Center for the Arts and have a look at some of the student work. Find a piece be it a painting or a sculpture and develop your own around it; make it personal, give it emotion" Professor McCloud called putting the final nail in Aymon's proverbial coffin. This was it, a prince in another dimension but he would fail a human creative writing class. Sighing loudly, he slumped over in his seat appreciating the chill of the tabletop.

"You are an exceptional writer and storyteller Aiden, now is the time to prove it to yourself." the professor encouraged.

"Unlike all other assignments I'm not putting something in front of you and telling you to be inspired; this time you can choose your own inspiration" he added, seeing that Aymon stayed behind after everyone else fled the room. Student work inspiring? Aymon wasn't inspired by the absolute best this realm had to offer yet here and now his professor expected him to fall in love with some amateur student's work. Aymon ranted internally. He was ashamed that he was an assignment away from failing a human writing class.

"Aiden!" Ashley's shrill voice sang out adding to his growing frustrations. Ashley was a short redhead with gorgeous caramel skin and dark brown eyes who was relentless in her chase. It was far from subtle. They shared light conversations in class when he wasn't blatantly ignoring her vividly expressed interest in him but as usual, she sauntered over to him wanting to tour the art center together. Aymon longed to tell her that not only was he a supernatural creature and she was human, but he was also in love with the nameless cocoa skinned goddess in his dream. Aymon was always extremely careful around humans, especially women. Their vivacity was like a magnet and the sheer force of Ashley's sexual energy this particular day made his head swim and vision blurry. Relationships between humans and Overworlders were almost impossible, not only because humans didn't live as long as they did but because they were incapable of handling the exchange of energy. So wrapped in his own internal struggle, Aymon hadn't noticed that Ashley had led him into an empty lab until she pushed him into a chair and straddled his lap.

"I can't do this" he panicked, breathing heavily through his mouth. Hoping the intake of air would clear his frazzled thoughts and cool his raging hormones. Ignoring him, Ashley pressed her lips to his kissing him sloppily, her lips and tongue tainted with coffee. As much as Aymon detested the interaction he could not ignore the way the blood in his veins raced, the way his heart picked up as he carelessly drained the girl of her life. The kiss broke when she slumped forward resting her head on his shoulder and struggling to catch her breath.

"You were tired after class and came here to sleep" Aymon whispered softly as he placed a tablet under her tongue. He had been given what Nabeh called suppression tablets for emergencies, Ashley would thankfully wake with no memory of the day.

The exchange or in this case the intake of Ashley's sexual energy left Aymon riding a glorious high. It had been far too long since he felt the raw power he did in that moment. Aymon's fingertips and toes tingled, his heart still raced and he wanted to run, really run just to blow off some of the excess energy. Deciding against it Aymon made his way over to the art center on campus to get a head start on his final since it should have been empty. He groaned loudly the instant he laid eyes on the student work, immediately agitated as he passed by the collection of sculptures without a second glance. He found the industrial art interesting as well as some of the modern pieces, but none were worth writing about. The only thing any of the works he had seen so far would inspire was his failure. After half an hour he was discouraged but holding on tightly to the last bit of hope Aymon made his way down the stairs to the paintings completely captured by the very first one he laid eyes on. In the center of the round room was a display that read Artist of the Year and beneath it a painting of the woman on the cliff. Her hair was the color of the moon and beautifully caught in the wind, her pale skin suggested she'd never seen sunlight, her long fine tipped ears were traits of royal bloodlines and the Zelarian crest at the nape of her neck only furthered his confusion. How could such a painting be here? Stunned, Aymon moved closer, noticing that every detail of the forest was captured perfectly. Every twig, every stone was just as he recalled it, all the way down to the abstract human figure watching her from between the two trees and the snapped twig which made him swallow the huge lump in his throat.

"It can't be," Aymon whispered. Letting his eyes fall on the picture of the artist, the young prince stood struggling to steady his frantically beating heart. Taking the girl in, the feeling in his chest grew wider, the longing replaced with something else. The woman had ash brown hair, a sultry smile, full lips and lastly her unusually blue eyes. Their blue eyes. It was her, the object of his obsession, his peace within the darkness. Aymon grabbed his phone to take pictures of the painting, he knew exactly what story he wanted to tell, it was in fact the only story that could ever be told when gazing upon its beauty. Turning to leave he stopped to take one last picture, this one of the cocoa skinned goddess responsible for the masterpiece, smiling at the image plastered across his screen. She was real, but just who was Miya Stevens.