#us plotting and sipping tea together: what if we just ruined one anothers lives doesnt that sound so wonderful????

[recitedemise]

His heart trembles. He blinks. He'd write novels for this look had he the lifetime to do so: that is, the way she'd soften at his very sight. Humbled--and oh so fantastically, thank you very much--Gale's very foundations start shuddering sweet. Made phantasmically springtime, he's but her cold-chasing months, and of those titles and names that he's come to go by, this, he argues is his very best. Charmed, he enters the quiet of her tent. It smells musky and deep, something earthy and drizzled with ozone and rain, and distantly, proudly, he smells rounded persimmon; there, in his hair, he smells them, too.

Of course. Serana's little by ways of guests, Gale acquiesces, but riotously, her tent's steeped rich with his constant shadow. Gale's smelled here, too, wafting in the stitching of her too-thin sheets. If ever he should try, he might even hear their phantoms, all their late night blatherings hushed in every corner, threatening to spill like a cup too full. Admittedly, the state of her dwelling is that state of his mind. Turning their talks in those hours past sunset... Sleep, as of late, is nigh impossible.

If she's but a sentinel, then he is, too.

"I have it on good authority that you look wonderful in any color," he answers, smile clever and brows bunched, "but yes, white would do as much justice as any other." And he means it. The wizard studies the clothes she's on, gauging her usual fare of that ink-drip dark. Against it, her specter-like pallor is made more striking. It fashions her dreamy, a creature spun fine from star-shard spools, and at once, he's happy with what necklace he'd chosen; there in his pocket, it rests with heft. His gaze fixes at her neck, veins absent of heartbeat. Then, wholly and terribly, an aching fills his marrow--and stopping, Gale heard her. And Gale looks ahead. Gods. To clear her clothes... What a quaint offer, isn't it? However, dying with haste and painfully rotting, he quashes all hope and masterfully grins. Ha. "Far more than complimentary," Gale, tone practiced, teases. "I'm an endless well of your unsung praise."

Mr. Dekarios. Their knees bump, and amusement, rich and half-tinged with something strained, something hurting, huffs out his throat. It isn't a name he's shared or heard in twice as long, admittedly; however from off her lips, it flutters like music, and for it, the shadows in his face delicately fade.

She's reached through this tundras. Perhaps you're volkihar.

"I'll choose to take that as the compliment I'm certain it was meant to be. In my experience, I assure you, a haggardly scholar is often a triumphant one." Here, he reveals the necklace he'd longly worked on. Weightily, a twinge of nerves, that constant need to thoroughly impress, hangs in his conscience as the opal shimmers. There, the hand holding it half-way quakes, and if Serana squints just a touch, she'll see the black in his nails. Oh. His blood's fouling. What has he done? "Here we are. First thing's first: unfortunately, it won't do much for your usual ailments in the sun," Gale broaches, closely studying her reaction, "but it'll more than do away with your persistent cold. It's one of my finer enchantments as humble as it is. Though it's as they say, simplicity in spares is often best. But let's rid of monologues for now." Please. "Allow me the honor." After a spell, Gale moves forward, resting that jewel against her collar. At once, as though leaping from the green of a summer field, a feeling, a sensation, crests both their bodies. It's warm and balming, a flavor of a nap in a bee-sung noon. Gale lets it lay there, his hand hanging close and beneath her chin, his skin lightly cracked and ghastly... So near, so there, it's plain to see. (Gale. What. Did. You. Do.) "I struggle to think of a better backdrop in which to demonstrate with. Now, with honesty: how distant does the cold feel tonight?" / @cldhrbour

once again , you sit alone in your tent. this time , though , there isn't the inherent cloud of loneliness and despair kissing your cheeks and resting on your shoulders. no it's something different. something akin to contentment. though she does not need to sleep , the vampire has her eyes closed , just short of meditating on a rather busy day. night had fallen and they were nestled within the mountains. familiar territory to her. a few ranges away , up north in snowy capped peaks sat an isolated castle with kin unaware that their princess had awoken. ready to come home. here she sat , listening carefully to every whisper of the trees , every rock that fell. a SENTINEL for the camp so that the mortals she now surrounded herself with could sleep soundly.

how her heart leaps at the familiar soft sounds of dirt and grass crunching under foot.

crimson eyes lift to regard him only after he knocks ( despite having heard footsteps approaching seconds prior ) lit by a warm smile as she wordlessly motions to some pillows beside her. you can always come in , gale dekarios. your presence is always welcome to the girl who had waited centuries to be asked such a simple question. longed for days when someone would finally be the one who breached her space to request her company. " are you saying i'd look good in white ?? " the pale woman shifts to afford him space as he settles , fashioned in a dark blouse that was gathered at her throat , adorned with laces and silks , folded legs in black pants. all to say that , to his point , the only color adorned on serana at the moment was the red threading in her under bust. " my wardrobe at home has some more color to it , i promise. even more so when i was human , if i recall correctly. " a pause. a smile. " maybe i should have you help me clear out whatever the moths haven't engorged themselves on when i return , if you're willing to be that COMPLIMENTARY. "

now that he was close , their knees touching , she can finally see him even in the dark of the tent. darker skin under his eyes , sallow and weary. his presence smaller , a wilted flower out of water that it needs for nourishment. not unlike her after days of starving. a walking corpse. a shade of who he was before. " i've lived my life in centuries of cold and snow , mr. dekarios. "  

she recalls a passage in a vampire hunters book. i told him about the most powerful tribe , the volkihar , paranoid and cruel , whose very breath could freeze their victims' blood in the veins. i explained to him how they lived beneath the ice of remote and haunted lakes , never venturing into the world of men except to feed. they can reach through the ice without breaking it.

" though i'll admit , the kind warmth of the sun has been WELCOMING. why do you ask ?? " much like his presence. and to that end , why would she need the sun if he fulfills such a thing ?? yet she looks at him and can't shake how tragic her wizard looks , sitting in front of her. " i'd hate to distract from your original reasons for gracing me with your company. especially so late at night. but i feel compelled to check in , love. the death shepards were formidable , but i've seen you fight much harder enemies without. . . and forgive my words. . . looking so haggard. " she hazards a hand to reach so that a curled finger could tuck beneath his chin , eyes searching his. a quiet promise. A PLEA TO LET HER IN.