Neron
the wind breathes lonely
longing to be seen
longing to be seen
His footsteps echo on the marble floors, Neron strolling forward and halting in the middle of the entrance hall, his hands remaining buried in his pockets. He almost senses the boy's approach before he appears, grey-blue eyes flashing up to meet Jace when he does step into view. And it's like looking in a mirror but not; in certain lights he can swear it's Zariah he sees in her entirety, and in others? In others it's him.
"Grand Sorcerer," he greets in return, speaking slowly and directly. "Just the person I was looking to speak to. I hope I am not intruding - I was hoping we might be able to sit for a while, and talk." He gets the impression of stepping into a lion's den by the mere sight of Jace. And yet, Neron was born in a lion's mouth, or at least that's how it feels. He's up to it, he thinks.
"Grand Sorcerer," he greets in return, speaking slowly and directly. "Just the person I was looking to speak to. I hope I am not intruding - I was hoping we might be able to sit for a while, and talk." He gets the impression of stepping into a lion's den by the mere sight of Jace. And yet, Neron was born in a lion's mouth, or at least that's how it feels. He's up to it, he thinks.
sometimes the soul
has days like these
has days like these
