[seasonal event] to find a soul somewhere

amalia chandrakant there is a color that shines through your skin Like the moon on the wind Amalia does not see the man approach. She does not hear him enter the water. And she does not suspect the impending onslaught, does not know what will happen until it does, chill droplets descending unceremoniously from the sky, dousing her grey tunic and clinging to her hair. "Vi! she exclaims in surprise, scrambling up on to her feet, indignant and shocked. Her first suspicion is for Jyoti: has the whale emerged from the depths to douse her, a Leviathan creeping from the depths? No, she is still playing gaily- Then she spots him- or rather, spots his head, the long dark curls glistening in the sun from where he lurks, still half in shade. Onyx and sable gaze widens in surprise, delight breaking like sunlight across her face. Where did he come from? And how? And oh, does it matter, because he's here, remarkably, inexplicably, shrouded in mischief and dazzling with play. Briefly when flirts with the idea of responding, calling to him, vaulting over the barriers between them and flying into his waiting arms. But that is not the game. The game is patient, slow and steady, steps upon steps until one of them breaks, unable to contain their rapturous mirth. Amalia has never been a patient child: she lives with her heart upon her sleeve, contained not by sensibility but anxiety, chained down by her inability to to relax. But in his presence she feels easy, her fears dissuaded by the light of his smile, snowfall melting beneath his warmth. "Strange," she murmurs pointedly, scanning the horizon in an exaggerated way. "Must be raining." Shrugging, she settles back toward the sand, unassuming, humming once more, her hands reaching out to collect stones. In the water Jyoti lurks, a silent conversation having taken place. She holds her breath and lies in wait: if Deimos approaches the river again she will rise and spalsh him with her tail, exhaling a plume of watery starlight to hopefully coat the behemoth of a man. the night is full on behalf or your evaded mask And the rings round your eyes

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