O'Fallen Star of the Morning

From worn cobblestone dyed dull grey and black in shadowed mimicry of a city that lives and breathes with vibrancy does the first answer come; shadows move upwards crawling lazily along the speaker before they slither downwards and pool in place, coalescing eventually into the same ghostly attire that haunts the corners of ones vision. The second reply, comes thus: "You're feeling quite obstinate this evening." A joke of sorts, there is after all no time here in Duskfathom only a perpetual evening - a burgeoning twilight - where the sun hangs lows enough to kiss the ocean horizon; and the night sky hangs thousands of twinkling stolen stars and glittering falsehoods.

There is no time where Duskfathom changes without the will of its owner, without the will of the man who patched it together through memories and old desires left buried and burned. The worn road of cobblestone and the towering lighthouse overlooking the perpetual horizon scene too stand as testament to unchanging desire. Shadowed form gains mass and color, proper form given to the formless as it wills it. The man pulls his hood back and a cascade of bright red hair spills from it when the guise is chosen; the ever easy going smile stays painted on his face, and the bright green of his eyes barely shows through the smile that seems natural for how practiced it is.

"But what is faith without the obstinate few, if every follower of mine behaved without a hint of disobedience I would be no better than my ascended siblings-" The man spits the word with contempt the way one may suddenly do so to foul food. With that Mirabelle looks at the standing lighthouse with a look indescribable, as the smile falls slowly from his mouth but never his eyes. "And you have chosen an ideal spot for a talk between us both, none but you and I quite favor this place." At a brisk pace set the mac begins his ascent up the paved hill road, looking over his shoulder only to call back a soft, but demanding, 'Come along now, if you make me wait then I will abandon you where you stand.'

He counts the steps as he ascends the outer staircase. The number has never changed but every time just as he did in life he counts, one, two, three, four and he always skips the last two steps in a single bound. Living things are creatures of habit and despite all his divinity, he too lives and breathes and some days his past life indeed pulls the strings. Mirabelle leans against the same place he has for millennia, where the paint has started to give way to years of gentle friction; the only imprint of what once lived and what lives now. A warm sea breeze drifts inland, just one more piece of divine, theatrical set dressing. The man closes his eyes all the same as it flows by. "Ruin is such a strong word." He keeps his words light and playful; a little bit cheeky. "It's not what I would have chosen but even your word choices are deliberate Cornelius, I recognize the barbs hidden in them."

Still he does not apologize. More so, he does not give the other the room to speak, not yet. "Ruin is almost dramatic but I understand. I do. Perhaps I have been overly mischievous with you so allow me a brief moment to assuage your concerns." Mirabelle reaches over and slides a delicate hand into the hood of his most beloved and treasured, knocks it back with but the flick of a finger and watches as it returns the face - the identity - of the one who swore his entire existence to the unknowable. "Are we not beyond a relationship that can be ruined, Cornelius? Have you not put your faith in the to the fire, your love for me to stand trial?" He speaks of the war for the crown and the throne, the fight between an innate desire to mitigate harm and the desire to own and be owned by the dark god that trapped him in an inescapable web. Mirabelle's fingers curl gently around Cornelius' cheek, hands warm and unblemished by tireless work. "How could you not have if you stand before me as my most powerful, most loved chosen. Together, we have moved to become something untouchable." With that the fingers leave, their warmth trailing and fading with the seconds.

"This, all of this, and the love we have crafted together cannot be ruined; I understand how you may think such but know those fears are mortal things. One day, you will recognize that you are as equally untouched by them as I." To an extent, he leaves out. To an extent you are as untouchable as the divine, but only so much as the divine cares to make you. It does not matter now, to reveal that truth. Not yet. Not when it does not have the weight it should in coin or power.

"But it does not mean it cannot be complicated. Word has reached my ears, Cornelius, of many things of great importance. There is a change on the horizon and I mean to seize the chances it will bring." His tone changes to a manic tinge, desire too powerful to ignore bleeds from his tongue. A thought, a dream, sparkles behind his eyes in a way that seems not entirely his own. "And while I have done a great many things that would earn me no trust, I must ask you Cornelius to once again place utmost faith in me and the future we craft hand in hand. When the time comes you will have you answer, once you have earned it with the hard work I must set you to do."