VESPER
The shade in the grove is thin and dappled; enough to take the edge off the LongHeat sun but not enough to make it pleasant. Vesper doesn’t seem to mind. He’s dressed for it, anyway: loose cream-coloured linen rolled at the sleeves, half-unbuttoned down his chest, the edge of a tank top barely visible beneath. His trousers are lightweight and cuffed at the ankle, and he’s barefoot, the rainbow cobblestones cool under his feet. A silver ring glints on one toe, casual and deliberate.
He stands near the lip of the well, one hand braced on the warm limestone, the other lazily outstretched. His shadows slither ahead of him like curious snakes, extending across the interior walls of the shaft, flickering with the shimmer of heat. There’s no wind down there, no echo—nothing but the crystalline glint of old water far below and the unsettling absence of any sound when something falls.
Or rather, when something should fall.
A smooth pebble, shiny and black as oil, slides into Vesper’s palm. He flicks it lightly toward the centre of the well—and watches as it vanishes mid-air. No splash. No sound. Just...gone.
He squints, then straightens. Another pebble slips into his hand from the shadows, then another, then another—little offerings pilfered from the grove, polished by time or mischief or both. He tosses them in one by one, each disappearing into silence like swallowed secrets.
Nothing.
"Alright," he drawls, tone suspiciously thoughtful. His shadows gather at the edge of the well, pooling like ink, then stretch downward in a curious spiral—as if they could feel their way into the shaft and find out where the hell all those pebbles were going.
He stands near the lip of the well, one hand braced on the warm limestone, the other lazily outstretched. His shadows slither ahead of him like curious snakes, extending across the interior walls of the shaft, flickering with the shimmer of heat. There’s no wind down there, no echo—nothing but the crystalline glint of old water far below and the unsettling absence of any sound when something falls.
Or rather, when something should fall.
A smooth pebble, shiny and black as oil, slides into Vesper’s palm. He flicks it lightly toward the centre of the well—and watches as it vanishes mid-air. No splash. No sound. Just...gone.
He squints, then straightens. Another pebble slips into his hand from the shadows, then another, then another—little offerings pilfered from the grove, polished by time or mischief or both. He tosses them in one by one, each disappearing into silence like swallowed secrets.
Nothing.
"Alright," he drawls, tone suspiciously thoughtful. His shadows gather at the edge of the well, pooling like ink, then stretch downward in a curious spiral—as if they could feel their way into the shaft and find out where the hell all those pebbles were going.
wake me when it's over
like a bad dream
like a bad dream
☆ has a pale star tattoo beneath his left eye, and freckle-sized constellations move across his skin
☽ hair changes from bleached blonde to brown
☆ telepathic: Sunlit Shadows | The user can read the surface thoughts and emotions of those within a 60ft radius. Control is excellent. Note: "Thoughts and emotions" include anything written in a character's narration in a post.
☽ hair changes from bleached blonde to brown
☆ telepathic: Sunlit Shadows | The user can read the surface thoughts and emotions of those within a 60ft radius. Control is excellent. Note: "Thoughts and emotions" include anything written in a character's narration in a post.
