The snow softens under the weight of Sunjata’s thoughts as his words dissolve into the chill air, but the shrine doesn’t stay silent for long. The flame flickers, sputters, then bursts outward—not violently, but with the warm swell of an embrace. The windchimes’ melody grows fuller, harmonizing with an unseen rhythm. A scent blooms amidst the frost, sweet as ripe fruit and heavy as summer. "Of course I have a second for you, gray-eyes," comes Frey’s voice, liquid gold with just a touch of smoke, teasing and tender. "More than that, even." They emerge not so much from the flame but as if the world itself gives them form. At first, they are golden-haired, their eyes a green that shifts and deepens like an emerald caught in sunlight. Their features hold an unmistakable echo of Hotaru’s grace and beauty, but their shape is fluid, ever-shifting, a masculine jawline softening into full lips, a curve at their hip flickering into lean muscle.
They tilt their head, studying him with an expression that’s equal parts affection and knowing. "Oh, darling boy, you’ve been through it, haven’t you?"
Stepping forward, Frey lifts one of the peaches from the offerings. They sink their teeth into it, the juice running over their fingers as their eyes never leave Sunjata. Then they kneel, the snow melting into lush grass beneath them, and hold the peach out toward him. "Here," they murmur, their tone coaxing but firm. "Can I tempt you with something sweet?"
They tilt their head, studying him with an expression that’s equal parts affection and knowing. "Oh, darling boy, you’ve been through it, haven’t you?"
Stepping forward, Frey lifts one of the peaches from the offerings. They sink their teeth into it, the juice running over their fingers as their eyes never leave Sunjata. Then they kneel, the snow melting into lush grass beneath them, and hold the peach out toward him. "Here," they murmur, their tone coaxing but firm. "Can I tempt you with something sweet?"
