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6/17/2025, 11:18:24 PM
>>6260082
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Only a couple of figures linger upon the ships that escorted the mysterious silver-haired girl to the Holy Land. The Mariners, after a short prayer just in case the stranger has cursed them, are doing their best securing them to the shore, with ropes and stalks, and they would certainly be left alone to their work.
“Over there!” Shouts a tanned man, holding up his hand to his mouth. “Everyone please get down! It’s dangerous to stay on deck!”
Silence, then the smaller of the two figures turns away and leans over the bulwark, holding onto it with her hands.
“We are coming down!” She shouts. Then again, as if she were trying to repeat it to herself. “We are coming down.”
The other one, a blonde-haired man with deep black eyes, wraps his arm around her shoulders and leads her down the gangway: she is a short and slim young woman, dressed in a simple grey tunic, without even a pair of sandals. And he wears a black-lined one, and an embarrassed smile.
“Apologies. It has been a long time since my wife had seen the sea, she wanted to linger a bit.”
“Y-Yes, the sea,” she replies immediately, nodding, which makes her dark brown hair wave, even if they are cut quite short. Her green eyes dart left and right even as her face flushes red. “I— It has been a long time, and… a-anyway. We will be leaving…” she fidgets, and the mariner scratches his head at the awkward display.
Then he goes back to his work, and doesn’t even notice that the woman has left no footprints on the wet shore.
“You are a terrible liar,” Helias whispers to her ear even as he pulls her closer. “The sun and stars change, but this does not,” he adds with a chuckle.
“I feel like I’m standing right before a great abyss,” the Stilladìa replies, her voice tense beneath the glamour that shields her trues features — the alabaster skin, her long flowing white hair, her crimson eyes and the twisted horns, the stars blinking between them — that would have the trusting, peaceful Maduans they pass by scream and run and hide, praying for Ansàrra to save them. “And I am starting to fall.”
“Good,” Helias reassures her, running his fingers through her hair. “We all have to learn how to fall.”
“At this point I could write a series of tomes on that same topic,” she chides. Then her shoulders slump and she sighs, leaning into his touch. “Sorry. I’m being so disgraceful.”
“I did not fall in love with you because you are graceful,” he points out with a grin.
“Well, I did not marry you for your humour, either!” She sticks her tongue out at him.
[cont.]
# # # # # #
Only a couple of figures linger upon the ships that escorted the mysterious silver-haired girl to the Holy Land. The Mariners, after a short prayer just in case the stranger has cursed them, are doing their best securing them to the shore, with ropes and stalks, and they would certainly be left alone to their work.
“Over there!” Shouts a tanned man, holding up his hand to his mouth. “Everyone please get down! It’s dangerous to stay on deck!”
Silence, then the smaller of the two figures turns away and leans over the bulwark, holding onto it with her hands.
“We are coming down!” She shouts. Then again, as if she were trying to repeat it to herself. “We are coming down.”
The other one, a blonde-haired man with deep black eyes, wraps his arm around her shoulders and leads her down the gangway: she is a short and slim young woman, dressed in a simple grey tunic, without even a pair of sandals. And he wears a black-lined one, and an embarrassed smile.
“Apologies. It has been a long time since my wife had seen the sea, she wanted to linger a bit.”
“Y-Yes, the sea,” she replies immediately, nodding, which makes her dark brown hair wave, even if they are cut quite short. Her green eyes dart left and right even as her face flushes red. “I— It has been a long time, and… a-anyway. We will be leaving…” she fidgets, and the mariner scratches his head at the awkward display.
Then he goes back to his work, and doesn’t even notice that the woman has left no footprints on the wet shore.
“You are a terrible liar,” Helias whispers to her ear even as he pulls her closer. “The sun and stars change, but this does not,” he adds with a chuckle.
“I feel like I’m standing right before a great abyss,” the Stilladìa replies, her voice tense beneath the glamour that shields her trues features — the alabaster skin, her long flowing white hair, her crimson eyes and the twisted horns, the stars blinking between them — that would have the trusting, peaceful Maduans they pass by scream and run and hide, praying for Ansàrra to save them. “And I am starting to fall.”
“Good,” Helias reassures her, running his fingers through her hair. “We all have to learn how to fall.”
“At this point I could write a series of tomes on that same topic,” she chides. Then her shoulders slump and she sighs, leaning into his touch. “Sorry. I’m being so disgraceful.”
“I did not fall in love with you because you are graceful,” he points out with a grin.
“Well, I did not marry you for your humour, either!” She sticks her tongue out at him.
[cont.]
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