magicker

   ⠀ID:  ⟮ @magicker ⟯ 
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀┈┈┈─
            
            that you were happy to leave me behind. but that’s precisely my point. you’re no better a husband than elias whitmore, and we hear enough about that madman at the hospital.   *it was a lie. this part, at least. rurik was far more than the mayor of hackney could ever hope to be, and there had never truly been a comparison. but she had hated that he left her. he could not have understood the hollow ache that lingered in his absence, nor the countless days she spent searching for him in places she knew he would never be.*    why should i look at you?    *she scoffs, turning her face aside with theatrical indignation.*    no, i didn’t. i was actually very happy. the happiest i have ever—rurik!

   ⠀ID:  ⟮ @magicker ⟯ 
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀┈┈┈─
            
            *amara was drunk. not from wine, but from the haze that clouded every thought until she could scarcely tell where one breath ended and the next began. every exhale left her lips in a quiet tremor, and her mind refused to settle. it was too much. far too much. she caught her lower lip between her teeth, a breath escaping in spite of herself. once, then twice, she swatted his chest, though neither strike carried any conviction. the glare she fixed him with lingered longer than either blow. brushing at her cheek with the back of her hand, amara leaned forward, determined to reclaim some semblance of control, and with a small burst of effort, rolled them over. relief found her at once. the meadow yielded beneath her, soft and forgiving, though it was the sound she sought. she wanted the quiet rumble of his laughter, wanted to feel it reverberate against her cheek, against the palm resting over his heart where she had already felt it once before.*    don’t be coy, 
            
             *she murmurs thickly,*   and it’s sires. keep it up, and i might just end up legally changing it back.    *amara hisses the last of it, hooking a leg around him as her hands settle upon his shoulders, drawing him close until the space between them disappears. they could remain like this forever. she could remain like this forever. there was a warmth in his embrace she had never found elsewhere. no.. he was beautiful. she lifts her head, pressing a kiss to him, then another, and another, each one lingering just long enough to steal the words from his mouth before she finally draws away. her fingers gather the fabric of his white shirt into a loose fist.*  i meant…  *she says more quietly,*

           ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ @straefrir.
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀━━━━━━
            ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀     ⠀⠀     ⠀⠀⠀ ꓄ʰᵉ λᵖᵖˡᵉ
            ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀     ⠀⠀     ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ 
               ⠀ ⠀⠀ the meadow carried the fragrance of lilies and the first breath of autumn. tall grasses bowed with the wind, their seed heads brushing together in quiet whispers while wildflowers swayed around them, stirred by the same gentle breeze. rurik rested against the rise of the hill, the earth warm beneath him, his arm circling her waist as though the world past that patch of green had ceased to exist.     he searched her face with an affection too old to hide. sunlight gathered in the loose strands of her hair, and for a long while he simply looked at her, committing every freckle, every smile, every impossible detail to memory.
            
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀“look at me.”
            
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀a quiet laugh escaped him before he shook his head.
            
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀“amara sterling.” the name lingered on his tongue with unmistakable fondness. “my love.”
            
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀he knew she’d scold him for using her surname like that. perhaps she’d swat his chest or roll those patient eyes of hers. the thought alone coaxed another grin from him.
            
            ⠀⠀“did you miss me that much?” he murmured, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.       “maybe i ought to take more time off duty.. though something tells me you’d complain before the week’s end.”

           ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ @straefrir.
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀━━━━━━
            ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀     ⠀⠀     ⠀⠀⠀ ꓄ʰᵉ λᵖᵖˡᵉ
            ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀     ⠀⠀     ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ 
               ⠀ ⠀⠀ the restless pull of the waves drew him closer, the current pressing them together with every rise and fall of the sea. a low grunt escaped him as his hand tightened around the cold rail of the yacht’s ladder. warm water surged around them, deep sapphire stretching in every direction, its shifting tide demanding balance more than strength. if he loosened his hold, the current would carry her farther than either of them intended.       rurik lowered his head, resting his face in the curve of her neck. the salt upon her skin mingled with the sea air, and for a fleeting moment the endless rhythm of the water quieted the noise inside him. he lingered there only a heartbeat before guiding her, slowly and steadily, toward the shallower water, every careful step matched to the tide so she would never lose her footing.
            
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀“it’s not that bad, amara. move your feet. let the waves carry you.”     his lips brushed the side of her neck in quiet reassurance as his hand tightened gently at her waist.⠀⠀“and let me.”
            
            &.      you rascal.   ;) 

        ⠀ he woke to a scent. not all at once, but gradually. something shifted nearby. the remnants of a dream still clung to him, a faceless figure resting a warm hand against his temple while murmuring words he could neither understand nor remember. still half-lost within it, he leaned unconsciously toward that fading warmth, reaching for a comfort he had spent a lifetime pretending he did not need.
            
            ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀“stay.. s—stay.”

         ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ @straefrir.
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀━━━━━━
            ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀     ⠀⠀     ⠀⠀⠀ ꓄ʰᵉ λᵖᵖˡᵉ
            
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ 
                    ⠀ an answer her gentle eyes sought in the form of tears. why do you weep for me, angel? why squander such precious pearls? the questions lingered upon his tongue, tasting of salt, as though he had swallowed the sea itself. yet silence was the only answer he could offer. with unsteady strength, he forced himself upright. the old ways came easier. wounds had long since become familiar companions. he tore his gaze away from her face, unable to understand the ache settling into his chest, nor the quiet longing to reach out and brush the tears from her cheeks. perhaps it would have been wiser to seek shelter elsewhere. yet no place willingly received a man condemned, a man already cast out. with a pronounced limp, he made his way toward the adjoining washroom, where he cleaned the blood from his skin beneath the shower before changing into the clothes she had left for him.       /unease/ lingered like a shadow that refused to leave. an hour passed before he returned, pausing by the window as rain traced slow paths across the glass. every bone in his body protested the smallest movement. though the sharpness of the pain had dulled, it had settled into something heavier, something that seeped through muscle and marrow alike. rurik glanced at his watch and winced. well past midnight. drawing a slow breath, he limped toward the couch and lowered himself onto it with careful restraint. exhaustion claimed him long before he realized sleep had come.        

   ⠀ID:  ⟮ @magicker ⟯ 
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀┈┈┈─
            
            do not be.. difficult, rurik.  *it slips from her before she can stop it. his name. she had meant to add the mr. he was her patient, and the quiet familiarity unsettles her more than she cares to admit. amara stills the faint tremor in her hands and finishes the last of the stitches along his right palm before spreading a thin layer of salve across the wound and binding it with clean linen. once everything is secured, she steps out, returning moments later with a neatly folded set of clean men’s clothing borrowed from one of her colleagues.*  can you change into these? the bathroom is to your left. can you manage? they may sit a little tight across your frame, but they’ll suffice for tonight. i can have jasper fetch something in your size by morning.    *amara bends to gather the blood soaked cotton and discarded dressings, setting the room back into order. even so, every few moments her gaze finds its way over her shoulder, lingering upon him with quiet apprehension before she forces herself back to the task at hand.*

&.      i can’t do it. it is difficult to hide this happiness. 

&.              undefeated by all things, and by mortal hands.      

&.      AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH.

       the   witch   exhaled,   glancing   toward   the   hallway   beyond   the   passage   before   her   hand   rose,   fingers   curling   around   his   forearm   with   unexpected   grounding.     ]    no.   I   won’t   go.    [     she   said   at   last,   lips   pursed   in   quiet   resolve.   then,   sera   stepped   out   from   the   narrow   space,   guiding   him   with   a   firm   tug   of   her   hand   back   into   the   hallway.   her   voice   lowered,   shifting   from   defiance   to   purpose.     ]     tell   me   his   symptoms.   I’d   try   to   see   him   first,   but   we   shouldn’t   waste   any   more   time.   I’ll   take   you   to   apothecary. 
            
            / 2/2     @magicker

@magicker     ( … )     [      her   hauntingly   hypnotic   eyes   lifted   to   his   face,   her   chest   rising   and   falling   steadily   as   he   moved   closer   to   her.   her   hair   brushed   against   the   wall   as   they   remained   in   the   shadows   of   the   passage,   their   breaths   mingling.   he   towered   above   her,   frustratingly,   but   she   did   not   let   that   intimidate   her.   she   never   would.   a   strained   laugh   combined   with   a   an   unpleasant   scoff   escaped   her   at   his   description   of   her   sometimes   being   foolish.     ]     so   are   you.   clearly.    [     the   woman   uttered   with   a   pointed   stare.   she   didn’t   need   him.   she   didn’t   need   anyone.   she   had   spent   her   childhood   fantasising   about   rescue,   about   someone   stepping   in   to   pull   her   from   the   chaos — and   every   one   of   those   fantasies   had   only   deepened   her   suffering.   age   had   carved   truth   into   her   bones:   she   knew   her   own   capabilities,   she   knew   she   could   rely   on   herself.   she   was   not   a   fragile   flower   waiting   to   be   plucked   from   danger.   a   part   of   her   had   / become /   the   chaos. 
            
               but   when   he   revealed   why   he   needed   the   apothecary,   something   inside   her   shifted — subtle,   but   undeniable.   he   had   a   son.   the   words   didn’t   land   all   at   once;   they   unfurled   slowly,   disbelievingly.   a   son.   how   old ?   who   was   the   mother ?   where   was   she   now ?   her   shoulders   eased   as   she   swallowed,   the   tension   draining   from   her   body   in   a   slow,   reluctant   release.   why   hadn’t   he   told   her ?   if   he   had   simply   asked — if   he   had   trusted   her — she   would   have   helped.   instead,   he   had   left   her   questioning   her   own   sanity…   and   his.
            
            / 1/2

⠀⠀⠀⠀“it is for my son.” what she revealed next struck him harder than he cared to admit. the realization settled with uncomfortable weight. it had never occurred to him. not once. the certainty he had clung to faltered, and guilt found its way through the cracks. without another word, he released her.
            
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀“i’ve heard the herbs here carry remedies older than most kingdoms. remedies that fight infection where ordinary medicine fails.” his gaze drifted from hers, weariness creeping into every syllable. “i’ve tried.. everything. this is the last place left to me.” the tremor that had plagued him two nights before was gone, held firmly in check by sheer will. yet the heaviness in his chest remained. he stood aside in silence, searching for another answer, another path that did not demand so much of everyone around him. perhaps no man had earned the title of fool more honestly than he had.
            
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀“go.” he drew a measured breath.⠀“i’ll find another way into the apothecary.”

           ⠀⠀⠀ rurik released her waist, though not her hand. without rite, he led her through the dispersing crowd toward the refreshment tables lining the far wall. crystal decanters and polished glasses reflected the candlelight. he stopped before them, studying the assortment with visible skepticism.
            
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀“what the hell is all this?” the remark escaped him under his breath. after a moment, he nudged her lightly with his elbow, finally looking across at her.⠀⠀“pick one.”   he folded his arms across his chest, preferring to watch her choose than admit he had no idea what half the drinks before him were supposed to be.

           ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ @spellswoven.
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀━━━━━━
            ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀     ⠀⠀     ⠀ 下ᵒʳᵇⁱᵈᵈᵉⁿ
            
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ 
                    ⠀ the mould of creation had always been beauty. it breathed, it moved, it changed with every passing season, yet never remained still. rurik found it resting within the quiet brilliance of her expression, carried in the rise and fall of her breath. without warning, he drew her closer, only to guide her away again with the next turn of the dance. there were no rigid rules to the way he moved. years of drills had taught him balance, not performance. while every gaze in the hall found its way to seraphina, he paid them no mind. his hand settled more firmly at her waist, braced rather than possessive, guiding her through the music as though the crowd had long since ceased to exist.
            
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀“i don’t recall ever saying you were difficult.” his reply came even, touched only by the faint hitch of breath the dance demanded.
            
            ⠀⠀⠀⠀“closer.” it was neither a request nor an order, merely spoken with quiet certainty. he guided her into a measured dip, supporting her without effort before drawing her upright once more.
            
            ⠀⠀⠀“again..” his eyes held hers.     “you’ve assumed the answer before i’ve had the chance to give one.” his brow furrowed, though only slightly.    “i asked because you’ve been different. there’s a difference.” the words settled between them before he continued.
            
            ⠀⠀⠀“or would you rather i make my own conclusions? because i can. i’d simply rather hear the truth from you.” the irritation lingered only briefly before he forced it aside. his hand tightened once around hers as he turned her through one final measure, slowing as the orchestra reached its close. applause rippled through the hall, joined by scattered laughter and the murmur of conversations returning all at once.

@magicker    ( … )    [     the   witch   rarely   felt   peace,   but   dancing   was   something   that   tended   to   calm   her.   getting   lost   in   music   made   her   feel   more   alive   than   most   other   things.   her   amethyst   hues   practically   glittered   as   he   spun   her   around,   easily   falling   into   step   with   his   movements,   her   skirts   trailing   with   her.      ]     I   never   claimed   to   be   a   simple   woman   to   understand,   rurik.    [     she   hummed,   the   corners   of   her   lips   twitching   as   she   tilted   her   head   up   at   him.   her   ringed   fingers   curled   around   his   as   her   chest   brushed   against   his.   it   was   strange,   really.   seraphina   could   charm   anyone   she   wished — she   wielded   allure   as   easily   as   breathing — but   very   few   ever   glimpsed   anything   real   beneath   the   surface.   she   was   a   labyrinth   of   secrets   wrapped   in   silk   and   shadow,   and   she   preferred   it   that   way.     ]     
            
            
                 am   I   truly   so   terrible,    [     she   asked   softly.     ]     that   you   feel   the   need   to   question   it ?     [     her   gaze   lingered   on   him,   searching — not   for   reassurance,   but   for   honesty.   the   music   swelled   around   them,   a   cocoon   of   sound   and   motion,   yet   she   felt   the   faintest   tremor   of   vulnerability   slip   through   her   carefully   constructed   poise.   it   was   fleeting,   almost   imperceptible,   but   real.   and   for   someone   like   seraphina,   that   was   far   more   dangerous   than   any   spell   she   could   cast.     ] 

why?

stulte vir! 

:0