Post by Edward Chris von Muir on Feb 7, 2021 23:43:23 GMT -6
So I followed a ghost of a king, but the voice of fire wasn't coming from a ghost no more
The messenger had found him, exasperated, and with excessive force shoved the envelope in Edward’s direction. “You had best get a move on,” the man said. He had sweat upon his brow and his chest heaved, his breath whistling between clenched teeth. “You don’t want to be late.”
With a tilt of his head, Edward accepted the parchment with as much grace as a confused man could offer, before the messenger took his leave. The wrapper was of high quality, dyed scarlet, his name penned in gold ink. With practiced ease, Edward broke the wax seal and read the contents, before a dusting of pink touched his cheeks. Nearby, his fellow musicians exchanged knowing smirks, having colluded with one another to give the melancholic other worlder the night of his life.
Schooling himself into a neutral expression, Edward rose from his seat. “If you excuse me,” he began, voice clear despite the rapid beat of his heart, “I seem to have been reassigned.”
The Lux Mare Botanical Gardens.
Edward reread the flowing script, and found himself in the correct location. Lanterns bobbed on the sighing wind, heady with the scent of flowers and salt. Edward inhaled, hoping to calm his nerves. Calm did not come. He fidgeted with the cardstock. The last time he fidgeted was the day Anna was to walk down the aisle.
Anna. Edward’s gaze swept the garden. Anna would have been radiant in the glow of the lanterns, with the breeze teasing her hair and the starlight shining in her brilliant eyes...
Edward caught himself. He had promised her not to live in the past, to ease her concerns, and to let her rest peacefully. Here, in this strange new world, should have made it so simple. Yet his thoughts still strayed from time to time. Everything began with small steps.
Steps. Someone was approaching. Envelope clasped in hand, Edward braced himself. Within the imposing shadow of a topiary in the shape of a heroic knight, the bard felt small. While a widower, he was a married man. How was he to explain this, without upsetting the unsuspecting woman’s feelings? Edward twisted the envelope, folding it in on itself. Would Anna accept this? What of Tellah? He wrung the paper as one does a wet cloth. There he went, thinking of Anna again when he swore he wouldn't. Again, the paper twisted, worn to the point of tearing. Furthermore, who was he to ruin her night?
The paper tore and Edward squared his shoulders. He hadn't the right. Whoever was heading this way deserved a wonderful night. It was the least he could do.
@rosa
With a tilt of his head, Edward accepted the parchment with as much grace as a confused man could offer, before the messenger took his leave. The wrapper was of high quality, dyed scarlet, his name penned in gold ink. With practiced ease, Edward broke the wax seal and read the contents, before a dusting of pink touched his cheeks. Nearby, his fellow musicians exchanged knowing smirks, having colluded with one another to give the melancholic other worlder the night of his life.
Schooling himself into a neutral expression, Edward rose from his seat. “If you excuse me,” he began, voice clear despite the rapid beat of his heart, “I seem to have been reassigned.”
The Lux Mare Botanical Gardens.
Edward reread the flowing script, and found himself in the correct location. Lanterns bobbed on the sighing wind, heady with the scent of flowers and salt. Edward inhaled, hoping to calm his nerves. Calm did not come. He fidgeted with the cardstock. The last time he fidgeted was the day Anna was to walk down the aisle.
Anna. Edward’s gaze swept the garden. Anna would have been radiant in the glow of the lanterns, with the breeze teasing her hair and the starlight shining in her brilliant eyes...
Edward caught himself. He had promised her not to live in the past, to ease her concerns, and to let her rest peacefully. Here, in this strange new world, should have made it so simple. Yet his thoughts still strayed from time to time. Everything began with small steps.
Steps. Someone was approaching. Envelope clasped in hand, Edward braced himself. Within the imposing shadow of a topiary in the shape of a heroic knight, the bard felt small. While a widower, he was a married man. How was he to explain this, without upsetting the unsuspecting woman’s feelings? Edward twisted the envelope, folding it in on itself. Would Anna accept this? What of Tellah? He wrung the paper as one does a wet cloth. There he went, thinking of Anna again when he swore he wouldn't. Again, the paper twisted, worn to the point of tearing. Furthermore, who was he to ruin her night?
The paper tore and Edward squared his shoulders. He hadn't the right. Whoever was heading this way deserved a wonderful night. It was the least he could do.
@rosa
