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five times kissed 💛

i. kiss one.

which came first , the land or the sea? historians would argue that it was water — the oceans have never been fully explored and are full of chaos , but some could say it was the land ( for where else could water go but beneath the embrace of the earth? ): however, their beginning was not purely elemental , but something far more raw , something far more human. it was the first kiss between a girl who embodied the earth and a boy who carried the waves in his veins. with their first kiss came the outpouring of emotions ( all full of waiting and yearning ): it was clumsy and misguided but full of love and love and love. a meeting of lips by a whisper of her name and a declaration , a promise that his water would always flow — gently — across her earth , unfolded like a gentle dance of nature: as waves crashing against the shoreline. and still — it was so much more.

it was not just a kiss. it was the invocation of a lifetime of balance held at bay. two divine forces , made flesh and weary , finally folding into one another. mikleo kissed her with the hesitancy of a boy who had been waiting across seasons — who had watched rain fall and wondered if she ever heard his longing in it. and edna — she did not falter , no , she never did. she let him kiss her like he was spilling himself dry ( like a watering hole during dry season ): and she received it all like the mountain she was: vast , still , unmoved and yet — at her core — forever changed. the water loves the earth below. it dances through the valleys deep , and in her arms , it finds its sleep. that is what this kiss became: a gentle descent of river into ravine. mikleo , all breath and softness , melting into her — the way water always returns to the place it came from. his fingers hovered like rain about to fall , trembling just above her cheek , brushing across the fall of her golden hair as though it might burn him with its brilliance. her eyes were unreadable , yet calm , like sediment untouched for millennia beneath a glacial lake.

through river’s grace and ocean’s kiss , it dreams of lands wrapped in earth’s bliss and in that kiss , he dreamed of her. not just her face or voice or dry humor — but her gravity , her weight , her constantness. he dreamed of the places in her that were untouched by wind , by time. mikleo kissed edna like he wanted to map those hidden meadows inside her , where no one else had ever walked. she did not stop him. she let him get lost. because that’s what water does — it flows into every crevice the land allows. and edna — she had allowed him. their first kiss was short , if measured in time. but for them , it stretched wide. into past lives , across lands they had walked together and alone. it touched every moment they’d stood side by side , unspoken and aching. it filled the silence between them ( with something living , with memories of loved ones half dead ): mikleo pulled back slowly , as though parting from her might break something more sacred than the sacrifice of a dear shepard. but her eyes held him there , grounded. he had poured , and she had received — and neither of them shattered beneath the weight. if anything , they had only begun to know their shape in one another and they speak the language of sea meeting land:

i. the sea in him whispered: i want to kiss you again. and again. and again. ii. the earth in her replied with the most honey suckled tone — and a single , tender parting of lips: hephsin yulind.

beneath the sun’s warm , golden blaze , water sings through verdant haze and she was warm — he noticed , as he stood close , not yet ready to part. warmer than he imagined earth could be. her presence like sunlit stone in spring , where moss grows gently over memory and time. and he ( ever always moving , ever always changing , and always becoming ): found stillness in that warmth. found direction in her gravity it is where water cradles seeds in her fertile ground , in every touch , the love inside an earthpulse is found. their fingers brushed again. a touch so simple. but it felt like soil breaking open beneath rainfall , welcoming something new. it was not just affection — it was transformation. it was what happened when water and earth chose one another , again and again , in every whisper and look and near-touch. though they would move through trials , through endless roads and skirmishes and silence , something had started. something ancient and sacred and beautiful. the earth receives with tender grace , water’s touch a soft embrace. because , mikleo had kissed her , yes. but she had held that kiss. kept it. let it live inside her and in that moment , beneath wind and tree and watching stars , they were no longer just a boy of waves and a girl of blossoms. seraph and seraphim , land and sea. they were union. they were enigma and mythos. they were a poem so blessed that even creation had not dared to record their adornment down in scripture.

ii. kiss two.

the second time had been on a calming spring day. when mikleo was reading some book of bygone historical record and edna ( with all her grace and beauty and gentleness ): had approached him and braided his hair. at first , it was an even trade for the two. mikleo had braided her hair and edna had braided his. it was the harmony between water and earth. the two had then sat in silence for a bit , mikleo turning the pages of text and edna , elegantly running her fingers across the ribbon in his hair. mikleo was the one who had initiated , but when their lips met , he was the one that found himself drowning ( an illogical question as "is water wet?" or "does a tree falling make a sound if no one can hear?" ): edna’s earth was steadfast and nurturing , her presence was mikleo’s anchor along her rocky cliffside and a comforting embrace that spoke of stability and acceptance and growth — without saying anything at all. from the first time their tongues met , did mikleo’s move with the fluidity of an ancient stream ( all elusive and profound ): his goal to seek the long-awaited connection with the solidity of edna: it was as if the water had finally found a reservoir to rest , only for edna to toss pieces of her land back into his depths.

their lips parted , and another name was whispered — but this time, it was edna bestowing upon mikleo a name that was never muttered to another: her true name in the ancient tongue. so , was it so strange when water chose to flood the earth again? should it not have been expected when the ocean wrapped his lakes and ponds into any place of her land it could reach? their current action could be the continuation of their first kiss — it was still all soft ( a delicate merging of elemental forces ): mikleo could feel her earth getting hotter and yet for edna , felt the cool , refreshing touch of the water , which brought a sense of renewal and vitality. for mikleo , in turn , the human parts of him that he never had the ability to know had come to the forefront in stride , experiencing the grounding presence of the earth , as her true name was spoken as a vow offering onto him a sanctuary where his water could linger and take shape.

a first kiss is a beginning , it is an opportunity to repeat those sparks again and again and again: but a second kiss was more harmonious than the blending of complementary contrasts. it was with the unyielding solidity of her earth and with his gentle , flowing nature of water. it was the first of many fleeting yet profound moments where their worlds converged , creating a new sense of unity and balance. the end of yearning and wanting and waiting: a shipwreck and sense of abandonment mended by the tender embrace of her earth. but that was only the start. edna throughout this is playing with his ponytail , opting to braid the strands as if composing a melody out of touch alone. there is something reverent about the way she moves — slow and deliberate ( her fingers gentle yet possessive ): like vines curling around a statue they’ve always known was theirs. mikleo doesn’t interrupt. his hands are still on the book , but the words have long since lost meaning. he has become increasingly hyperaware of the feeling of her touch near the base of his neck , of the warmth of her legs tucked beneath her , just barely touching his own. the water loves the earth below. he thinks of this , suddenly. how rivers don’t just flow — they yield. they give in. they fall down mountains in surrender just to caress the fields. that is what he’s doing now. yielding to her. not in silence , not in defeat , but in offering. in longing.

edna says nothing as she braids the last ribbon into his hair. but the moment her fingers leave his scalp , his body turns toward her like a current shifting its path. she tilts her head slightly — permission granted , or perhaps expected — and then their mouths are colliding once again , as if this is their ritual , as if this is what they were meant to be doing all along. here , edna has a river’s grace and his lips give her an ocean’s kiss and for mikleo , he dreams of lakes and rivers wrapped in earth’s bliss. their kiss is deeper this time. not hesitant like the first. it is patient , but burning underneath. his mouth is cool , fluid , searching. hers is steady , grounding , and quietly indulgent. she allows him to move against her like tide against shore — never repelling , never fully absorbing , but shaping each other in quiet defiance of time. then , her hand cups his jaw. his own finds her waist. somewhere in the back of his mind , mikleo begins to think: this is where i go when i am tired.

and edna begins to think: and this is where i go to be loved. it is when edna pulls away , but she doesn't move far. their foreheads stay pressed together. the silence returns — but now it’s a bit of hazy gold ( the sunlight passing through tree leaves ): her eyes flicker and mikleo expects a teasing comment , but instead she gives him something more sacred than jest: her true name. it is spoken in the oldest tongue. older than ruins , older than gods. a word not meant for mouths , only for hearts. and still mikleo hears it and he holds it. he places it inside him like a promise that wouldn't even be broken , not even in death. beneath the sun’s warm , golden blaze , water sings through verdant haze and mikleo wonders if the sun is warmer now. or maybe that’s just because of edna. his heart is beating far too fast and the space around them seems blurred. he feels something press beneath his ribs ( something like gratitude , something like holiness ): because edna , for all her barbs and barbed umbrellas , just gave him a name no one else will ever hear , no one else could ever utter ( except for his brother , of course ): their hands find each other again , fingers interlocking like roots meeting a spring. they do not speak of the kiss or the name. they do not need too. her ribbon is in his hair and his scent is on her mouth. they are tethered now — not just by duty or fate — but by something far deeper — by choice. by a thundering blooming want. and they sit there , side by side , until the book pages are kissed by evening wind. his water lingers beside her mountain and the braid in his hair sways gently as if to say: this is the place i was always meant to flow into. with her is where i have always belonged.

iii. kiss three.

it was elysia , just as it had always looked , but mikleo knew that the wind's today carried more importance than usual. the sky above curled itself in a blue so vast it felt painted by divine hands , each cloud stitched with silver thread. beneath it , the land stretched wild and bright , carpeted in clover and soft grass warmed by early sunlight. the ruins stood like ancient witnesses , holding their breath and in the center of it all , an oddity to outsiders was happening 'pon this littlerather grand gathering. mikleo had arranged it with absurd care — a handwoven blanket spread out on the hillside , its corners pinned by stones shaped like stars. on it sat a humble feast : fruit frappè , butter cookies , palmiers , rice dumplings , marrons glacés , and red bean pancakes all neatly wrapped in parchment. with chilled fruit water in delicate flasks , and one crooked flower arrangement ( said flowers are half-stolen from sorey’s garden , that the seraph of water maintained in grief and memory ): around the rather massive blanket , surrounding it are fifty normin — all bouncing , rolling , and tumbling — shrieking in joy , arguing about who got the biggest bun , pretending to wrestle and failing spectacularly.

edna sat at the edge of the scene , her umbrella planted like a scepter beside her , with posture perfect and an expression unreadable — until she wasn’t. until mikleo handed her a carefully carved dish of sugared rose petals and dew-soaked fruit and sat beside her , closer than usual. until one of the normin accidentally launched itself off a boulder into another, sending a domino crash of ten tiny yelps into the earth covered in clovers. and edna laughed. and edna's laughter was not the dry , sardonic huff she so often spared. this one was full ( all golden and blooming and bubbling ): with a rich sound from deep in her chest. mikleo nearly dropped the cutlery. she looked at him after ( her facial expression is saying: ❝ little meebo needs to learn some etiquette. ❞ ): but the retort is said out of comfort than anything and her eyes are catching the light like polished amber and for a moment there was only wind , only sky , and only the sound of joy rippling around them like a tide.

but it was here in that sacred hush , that mikleo leaned forward , slow , like a wave climbing up a familiar shore. he doesn't care that they are surrounded by so many normin nor that they are not so alone in the place of his upbringing , it is all subjective to mikleo in this moment. thus , his lips met hers with no announcement , no whispered true name this time. just the quiet conviction of a current that had always known its direction. just the steady movement of love flowing where it had always longed to. it dances through the valleys deep , and in her arms , it finds its sleep. her lips answered without hesitation. not a surrender — never that — but a welcome. a folding-in. mikleo’s hands cradled her face with reverence , thumbs tracing the curve of her cheeks as though sculpting memory itself. edna’s hands didn’t move; she didn’t need to. her stillness was its own language: she chose to remain and chose to let him pour into her. their kiss deepened like a river discovering a hidden spring — richer , cooler , ancient in ways that made mikleo’s spine shiver. the boy of water became drunk off her sunlight. she tasted like the echo of something buried — like roots under stone ( all warm and secret and alive ): around them , the normin screamed in delight at a new game. a few rolled toward them , stopped short , and in childish understanding , scampered the other way ( some commented quietly and others made little dances of victory at the sight ): edna pulled back just enough to breathe , her nose brushing against his , her voice lower than usual , like the rumble of stone just before a landslide. ❝ meebo , that wasn’t in the picnic itinerary.❞

at her retort , mikleo could only smile ( all soft and embarrassed and so full of adoration he could barely breathe ): ❝ that's because i made space for improvisation. ❞ their fingers touched , barely laced — just enough to feel the thrum of pulse against pulse and in that contact , something fuller than magic bloomed. not a spell nor artes. just the simple , sacred electricity of knowing someone — wholly , truly , and without condition. the breeze passed gently. her ponytail swayed. mikleo leaned again , this time brushing her temple with his lips ( as a benediction , as a thank-you , as a reminder of their kept promise ): their bodies leaned shoulder to shoulder , watching the normin now attempt synchronized tumbling. one fell backward and rolled down a hill. edna did not laugh again , but she smiled — eyes soft , mouth curved , the way land might smile when spring returns to it after long and particularly harsh winter.

looking at her made mikleo feel something loosen in his chest. his world , once so full of duty and quiet longing , now pulsed with presence , with her. he passed her a sweet pastry. she took it with care , never looking away. he drank from her cup but she didn’t complain ( what's sharing a cup when one chooses to share everything with another? ): the smallest things became liturgies between them. a language of glances and sips and limbs barely brushing , all singing the same verse: we are not what we were before. and when the normin finally collapsed from exhaustion — sprawled across the field like a constellation — edna turned her head and looked at mikleo again , with no smirk nor barrier of banter to be tossed between them; only that still , mountain gaze — the kind that makes rivers stop moving , even if only for a moment and again — quietly , sweetly , and with no great fanfare — she kissed him. not like the second time , where depth rushed forward. this one was soft ( like the brush of moss , as the press of roots under bare feet ): the gentle curl of a stream finding its way around a stone and mikleo kissed back like rainfall — constant , careful , and infinite. they stayed like that , two breaths in rhythm , while the day slid quietly toward dusk. and the picnic lay around them , not disturbed , but enriched — like something blooming had passed through and it had.

iv. kiss four.

it was a tradition foreign to both of them : valentine’s day — a curious human holiday full of pink , lace , candy , whispered flirtations , and very awkward declarations. mikleo had first heard of it from alisha — her words colored in fond nostalgia , tinged with longing. rose , of course , had jumped in with a barrage of teasing suggestions and even odder customs. something about giving sweets — trinkets or tokens — or even handmade things that said what one's mouth sometimes could not. mikleo had listened quietly , nodding along. he said nothing at first , but something inside him stirred ( a part of his mind connected a piece of a puzzle he wasn't even sure was missing ): later that evening , alone by the riverside where moonlight danced like silver petals across the water , mikleo gathered shells — not just any , but the ones that hummed beneath his touch. pearlescent , translucent , and iridescent — each kissed by centuries of tide. he whispered artes into them , small and quiet spells. one to glow faintly under starlight. one to chime softly , like laughter trapped in salt. one to carry his warmth.

in his hands, the shells became a physical manifestation of their promise and when he brought it to her — delicately wrapped in river-silk , the edges tied with a braid of aquatic grass — he offered it not as a boy who lived as water in love , but as a current surrendering itself to the shoreline. edna had taken the charm slowly , eyes narrowed not in suspicion , but in something older —curiosity sharpened by affection. her fingers traced its shape once , twice , and for a long moment she said nothing. mikleo , ever poised , felt his heart shift dangerously in his chest and then she spoke: ❝ its not horrible , meebo. ❞ from anyone else , it would’ve been dismissive. but from edna , it was as the most holy cathedrals ( a gospel unmatched from a shrinechurch of would-be almost lovers ): mikleo smiled — softly , quiet , and full — watching as she gently looped the charm into the lace of her umbrella , near the hilt ( getting a nice home near phoenix ): it glinted there , like it belonged.

❝ you made this? ❞ she asked , voice low.

❝ yeah. ❞ he said. ❝ used artes to polish the shells and a bit of help from the river. ❞

to his comment , edna's brow twitched — not quite a smirk. but something softer. something closer to truth. then she stepped forward , not far but just enough. enough for the breeze to lift her golden hair into his space. enough for the scent of petrichor and lilac to rise between them like steam from rain-warmed soil. enough for her to look up and say , with devastating ease, ❝ then let the river have this. ❞ and she kissed him. this is a quieter kiss. it was a kiss not born from necessity , but devotion — a shimmering thing shared between waves and the most beautiful of gemstones. still , it was not a hungry kiss. not like the second , nor the third that they shared. it was a still-water kiss. the kind of kiss that happens beneath moonlight , when tide pulls back and stars reflect perfectly on the surface. it was not long nor was not loud — but it lasted. her lips pressed against his like a vow unspoken. like the touch of rock warmed by evening sun. her kiss tasted faintly of rose sugar and clarity — like the hush of an ancient mountain watching the sea return to it again and again and again. mikleo , naturally , responded in kind — gently — with hands that did not reach or grasp , only hovered and only held. like water lapping at a shore it had no intention of ever eroding ( only worshipping , only adoring ): mikleo had thought , once , that love would be as an ever burning fire. that it would be sudden and sharp and devouring. but this — this was love too. a love made not of flame , but of echo : it is the kind of love that waits.

it is a love that shapes itself around gemstones rather than trying to crack them open. and the charm at her umbrella glowed , softly , like the earth pulse of newly born seraphim coming alive. when she pulled back , she didn’t look away. her eyes held his , unreadable as always , but shimmering faintly now — like dew across ancient stone.

❝ thank you. ❞ edna spoke as gentle as a spring's breeze.

mikleo blinked. ❝ for? ❞

❝ ... for knowing me well enough to give me something beautiful without asking for anything back. ❞

and it was at those words that mikleo swallowed ( how ironic , would it be for the man who was as water to perish from his mouth becoming dry ): and for a brief moment , he wanted to say everything. he wanted to tell her that he would always be the river that returned. that he'd never make her wait for the one she loved again. that her cliffs and silences and banter was most sacred to him. that she was the place his spirit softened : but , of course , he didn’t. mikleo knew he did not have too — because she already knew. the stars above stirred into constellations. the wind carried the faint sound of water trickling nearby. the charm on her umbrella shimmered once , then again — quiet as a heartbeat. mikleo turned to leave, but she caught his sleeve ( her giant's strength making her weak was alright , edna knew she had the most precious river to keep her afloat ): one last kiss. in a way , kissing had become form of banter between the two of them. but , this one was briefer than the first , but warmer ( like soil absorbing rain. like the earth answering the sky ): when they parted again , neither said goodbye. there was no need ( for earth and water it was not a goodbye but a see you later ): because now , something of him would always hang beside her — glimmering , pulsing , alive , and absolutely cherished.

v. kiss five.

night in the quaint and cozy home of edna's on rayfalke was both a soft and solemn thing. the stars above were uncountable — each one flickering like the echo of something longed for and remembered. the wind moved quietly across the broken stones and moss-laced walls , as if afraid to disturb what the world had buried and beneath them — on a ledge overlooking the silver-lit expanse of land below — mikleo and edna sat. not beside one another , not touching. but near , always near. their breaths synced to the rhythm of the wind and their silence was not empty. it had weight ( like a river swollen with all it had never spoken ): edna tilted her head toward mikleo first. no words , no teasing remark or sly observation. just the slow , patient gaze of the earth assessing the sea and mikleo looked back. by doing so , the stillness became holy. today feels different for the two of them. the entire day had been a tad off-kilter. but it doesn't stop him from kissing her as though the moment had been centuries in the making and in a way — it had. it had lived in the space between their shared glances , tucked beneath every deflection , every quiet nod , every sharp quip softened by the edges of something unsaid. his lips found hers again like tide slipping home into harbor. gentle , persistent , and necessary.

edna responded like soil after drought : all welcoming , steady , aching and dying of thirst without saying so and it was not hurried , no part of it was. mikleo kissed her slowly. over and over and over ( each time different , each kiss felt like no kiss from before ): the corner of her mouth , her jaw , her brow — each one so full of absolute and utter devotion ( as a quiet prayer , as their own vanishing song ): his hands begin trembling where they rested at her waist — not from fear , but from pure awe. edna’s hands lifted to his face , fingertips grazing the edge of his ear , his jaw , then settling behind his neck. her thumbs drew soft , infinitesimal circles there , anchoring him. when mikleo pulled back to look at her , his lavender hues drinking in her form greedily. edna , all breathless and full of something far too large for any language , her expression didn’t change. but her eyes — her eyes — held galaxies and it was those galaxies that mikleo could not resist , it was those comets mikleo would never stop wishing 'pon. mayhaps it was the culmination of every brush if their lips , every elemental merging of their bond. this is the threshold between longing and fulfillment ( between promise and embodiment ): the kiss that leads into an intimacy not yet discovered. it is a merging where water and earth are no longer mere metaphors — but truths laid bare. they are both inneed , in what , in desire — and pure lust fueled by adoration and love. mikleo is trying to keep his head from being so hazy , he is trying and trying and trying ( yet , he is failing. he drowned from their very first kiss and has been drowning ever since ): but mayhaps this is the humanity that still lingered in his self. a piece of himself he didn't remember consciously.

❝ i want too , meebo. ❞ edna's says in a tone that is not a whisper and not shy. its all just truth ( like a fault line calmly , deliberately opening ): but mikleo can't resist , how could he? the man was already resisting the woman more beautiful than aphrodite. so what else can mikleo do except nod at her words and the stars seemed to burn closer. the pair lay back upon the moss and broken stone , careful at first and reverent , until they are not.

fingers undid buckles. silk untied silk. not in haste , not in desperation , but in recognition. mikleo hands moved with the delicacy of water navigating through canyon ridges. edna's moved with the calm certainty of roots threading through soil and when their bodies came together , it was not frantic. it was not the chaos of need ( it was gravity and it was confluence ): there was sound and the quiet gasp when skin first met skin. it was the shared breath held between mouths far too overwhelmed to speak , only moans and groans and whimpers — the low sigh of earth welcoming a rushing flood. thus , mikleo entered her with a trembling reverence ( a tsunami forming slowly before overtaking and crashing against the shore ): she received him with stillness , not because she was unmoved , but because she was the place where things settled. and so they moved. in unified rhythm , and breath , and in tide. time fractured and became meaningless. all that mattered was the slow , rhythmic poetry of their bodies ( of skin slapping against skin ): his forehead pressed to hers and her fingers tangled in his hair. just the sound of his name breathed into her neck , with the grounding weight of her thighs around his hips. their climax was not a singular crest — it was an unspooling , a giving way. a soft , whole dissolution into one another. then it was the wave breaking , at last , upon the land it had always belonged to.

afterwards in a glow of new discovery of what it meant to become as one , they lay as they were. legs tangled , arms folded around each other as vines and streams. she was warm , so impossibly warm and her hair against his shoulder felt like home ( it was his home. she would always be his home ): mikleo breath across her collarbone which made her tremble but not from cold. neither of them spoke , because they didn’t need too. the shell charm that had been given during the human holiday glowed faintly on her umbrella where it hung above them , casting dim iridescence on their joined hands : a small , glimmering heartbeat in the dark. it was in this quiet and calm and bliss that mikleo whispered something. but at first , edna didn’t catch the words. but she felt it , the reverence in his voice and the vow in his kiss on her temple. like she had done time and time before. mikleo wasn't sure how else to express everything that he felt in his heart for edna that he thought of no other words to say except his true name: ❝ luzrov rulay. ❞ and edna , in turn , brought his hand to her heart. the stars bore witness and below them , far off in the distance , a river curved gently into the shape of a sleeping valley and together they weaved life’s tapestry , in union , bound eternally.

˗ˏˋ @ednaeflowers offered as prompted whisper out to the sea *˖ ♔