#l̶i̶k̶e̶ ̶i̶n̶ ̶a̶n̶o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶ ̶u̶n̶i̶v̶e̶r̶s̶e̶

[acosmicwayfarer]

'Tis New Year's Eve, a timeless tradition even he cannot claim ignorance of. In his time, the court would erupt in cheers, nobles drunkenly embracing one another in the parlor, laughter and revelry filling the air. He recalls it now, through his own memories and the countless lives he has absorbed, a thousand New Year’s kisses witnessed but never partaken in.

Perhaps it is the warmth of the single drink he's allowed himself, or perhaps it is the occasion, but this once, he feels compelled to indulge. As the countdown echoes around them, reaching two, he leans closer, hesitant yet intent. The clock strikes twelve, and his gaze finds hers... pleading, searching for a sign. Slowly, he leans in, a feather-light brush of lips, fleeting and questioning, gentle and patient, leaving her every chance to shy away, as he mostly expects she will.

🎆 🎇

In Aeden, the year was soon to pass at this specific hour, another to take its place - a cycle reaching its beginning and end. Among these rounds, there were some that felt to be but a blur or a blink of an eye, both bland and brilliant in their brevity. And so, in reflection, what kind had this one been?

A sentimental stare hung itself somewhere among the beyond before landing upon Wagnas. The wayfarer smiled warmly. Fleetingly, however, as she realized she was now caught in the wake of a closing distance. A seemingly particular means of it. He was... this was...

She could feel it. Something down to her very DNA that faltered; the tips of russet locks sparked, fading in part, their translucent, ethereal glow softly dancing like blades of grass met by an unfathomable breeze. It was as if her preternatural cells would wish to flee, but... in this proximate vicinity, she could only fall still.

Lips barely parting as if intending to speak, such words would remain unseen, only their intention to be carried across a single breath. She was not unlike a ghost upon him. She lingered, ensnared in this quiet limbo of hesitation.

Her gaze drew away... she herself almost did the same. Again. Alas, she remained. Until finally... with eyes closed, so too was the distance ever gently.

In ways entirely and delightfully unanticipated, this year spoke of a tale she hoped to turn the coming pages to. Its contents were beautifully curious.