#valkeirie

your grief ...   every bird sings in harmony serving only to accentuate her voice where it rides across the summer's breeze.  blowing quietly now,  raking inwards from lands far from this stone order.  sadness ripples between each pause,  counting celestial vowels as they fall into place.  the sun matron shakes her head.    ... your grief has consumed you,  child.

The skies above Xanadu are ever clear and bright as if the heavens themselves wished to greet the fair goddess. Seiros, the mother’s most beloved daughter, too was reasonably popular among the population. The inhabitants of the canyon all possessed similar features, but Seiros’ likeness to the goddess was without peer. 

“ Lady Seiros, oh, good day, ” she sings with child-like joy. “ I hope you are most well. I, myself, could not possibly be more jubilant. You see, my mother has finished constructing the loveliest dress and I am most proud to be its recipient. ” A turn of the heel to accentuate the hand-braided tassels of her new gown and its flowing skirt makes her feel more grown-up than it ought to. However, she fortunately manages to finish with a curtsy albeit accompanied by several giggles.

Sleep was an interesting thing, a concept they had not really known. A bizarre thing given they’d been essentially forced into sleeping a thousand or so years ago. Maybe that had something to do with their lack of need of rest, of some shut eye, having spent roughly a thousand years asleep, they’d caught all the z’s they could need for at least a mortal’s lifespan. They’d tried to sleep when others of the monastery slumbered, but it was of no use. Most nights they spent awake and wandering the place, wandering about the grass fields late at night when all had left and retreated to their dreams, staring at the sea of stars above them or observing the life that dwelt in the night.

Sometimes though, they spent the quieter and stiller hours with the one who currently offered them shelter and care. Either alongside her or sitting upon the floor and keeping watch like some dog worried something might stir its master awake. Godie found the dark time much more bearable when they could watch Seiros sleep or idly chat with her. Tonight was the more chatty nights, a thing that gladened the stray dragon.

Their smile faltered just a bit when Serios’ face suddenly became solemn, as if thinking for a moment, her question making their expression drop into a look they couldn’t possibly guess. Emotions were tricky, self expression and awareness evaded them at every turn, words not at all their strongpoint. Most things that left them were things others had done or said to them. They’d never asked nor been asked about one’s happiness.

“We are.”

 "  rhea  ,  "  byleth  starts  as  he  slides  into  her  office  .  "  i  wanted  to  thank  you  .  "  he  comes  to  a  stop  in  front  of  her  ,  leveling  her  with  a  steady  look  from  steely  blue  eyes  .  

 there's  something  odd  about  the  way  he  feels  around  her  .  something  inside  him  thrums  ,  tenses  .  while  at  the  same  time  ,  something  else  relaxes  .  he  finds  himself  on  edge  and  yet  --  he  doesn't  feel  the  tightness  in  his  throat  that  prevents  speech  when  they're  alone  .  instead  ,  an  odd  sort  of  energy  skitters  under  his  skin  .  he  can't  tell  if  it's  pleasant  or  not  .  

HE   HAS   BEEN   ALIVE   A   LONG,   LONG   TIME.   and   in   this   breadthless   expanse   of   time,   jeralt   has   learned   that   it   is   perhaps   his   hearing   that   ought   to   be   his   keenest   sense.   trying   to   see   in   the   dark   is   a  fruitless   venture.   putting   his   ear   to   the   ground   to   capture   whispers   ?   a   far   more   shrewd   move.   as   such,   jeralt   has   learned   to   be   quiet   around   the   archbishop.  long   gone   are   the   days   of   gratitude,   of   warmth   in   taciturnity.   now   there   is   only   mistrust.   and   perhaps   the   occasional   barb.

Awkward. How awkward feeling it was to have their hair touched, to have it brushed. And by none other than Seiros herself. It wasn’t a bad feeling at all, it was a newer sensation yes, but not something they found dislike in. Since Godie had awoken, they hadn’t done much with their hair, possessing no reason to care for their appearance. Seiros and those who followed her had reason to care so meticulously for how they appeared to others, to convey an image of trust, to hide any secrets they didn’t want to be known. Godie held no such thought, aware they might have...been a bit messy looking, a bit untamed, yes, but they were an untamed thing with a mess for a head.