You are the night-time fear
Like all things do sooner or later, it falls silent. The merry giggles dissipate with the last of the daylight, and for a creature shaped by strife and downed by war, it seems too fitting. Nothing is ever more than a lull, a hush, a breath held before the roaring storm. His own (fake, unneeded, habit) pools like a white cloud by his face."I don't know," he says after a moment; not knowing is not his domain either, yet he has resigned himself to it. What else can you do when your memories are in shambles? So he might as well humor her; guess, not merely jest. "Perhaps it is just to spread some cheer and amusement in the dark. It certainly seems to have captured our attention." And his lips curve into that small, crooked smile again.
Or perhaps it merely exists to bring people together. While the initial crowd has dispersed, leaving the two Ascended alone, more are likely to come as news of it spreads. What better than a mystery to cause new connections to be forged?
As he glances at her he finds himself studied, scrutinized, and he wonders if she is trying to see that radiant figure through his seams again. He has gone out: a beacon no longer needed, dormant, mortal, normal once more. He is neither more nor less than anyone else now. "The Voice," he responds. It is an answer to both, yet he feels he owes her more (or perhaps, it is just that he wants to give her more). "She tasked me with it, and placed me in there with you. Perhaps I knew the way out because I was still alive."
She was born here? He studies her (not in disbelief); how old does she seem? Sixteen? Nineteen? You can never tell with Ascended. He knows, roughly, how old he is, and it sure as hell doesn't match his face. "Do you still have family here?" he asks, curious, guarded. Something, again, makes him think not. Surely she would not be barefoot if that was the case.
You are the morning when it's clear
AAMU
