Song of the Stars
90th of spring, 520 AV
well into the night
well into the night
Meteor showers were always bittersweet for Zintila. This one had started early in the morning, difficult to see in the daylight hours; but now that the sun had long since sunk past the horizon, the streaking lights across the sky were vivid and clear. Below, in the streets of the city, she could hear music and laughter as people celebrated the event. Her Constellations would be preparing to set out within the next few days to collect any fragments they could.
She walked with silent steps across the crystalline floor of her chambers to the skyglass doors of her balcony, the train of her navy dress drifting behind her, the material glittering silver and gold as if it was made of the night sky itself. The doors parted silently for her approach, and she stepped outside into the cool night air, inhaling deeply as she approached the railing. She leaned gently on it, propping her chin in one hand as she stared up at the streaking lights in the sky.
The stars twinkled back at her, so close but so far, and she heard their delicate, shimmering chiming gracing her ears; a sliver of twinkling sound like the brush of a butterfly's wings, audible to none within the city except for her. And Zintila began to sing, ever so softly.
The area around the Twuele was relatively quiet; celebrations were usually kept away from the government buildings and more focused on the entertainment sections of the peaks, and indeed, most were busy with the celebrations, laughing and dancing and drinking. But anyone who passed through the streets below the Twuele would hear just the faintest voice, achingly beautiful and full of sorrow and love and longing, in a delicate crystalline tone and a language they couldn't quite place.
And if anyone were to look up, they would see the softly glowing, glittering form of Zintila herself, leaning on the railing of her balcony so high up, looking at the sky and singing the song of the stars.
This is what greeted the ghost of Autumn Rose as she, for her own reasons, drifted past the Twuele that fateful night; this is what enraptured her, as it would any being short of those who were divine and accustomed to such things. Mortal or immortal, living or undead, the whisper of the alvina's voice on the winds, pitched high with her song, seemed like it could have stopped a war.
Zintila knew she was being watched. She did not care, for the time being; she continued to sing until she finished her song, her voice fading out to nothingness. Only then did she turn her gaze downwards to the streets; she could feel, even from so high up on her balcony, the cold brush of undead, ghostly air that floated around her spirit spectator. Whether Autumn was choosing to show herself or not, the alvina could see the shimmering air where she stood in the darkness without much difficulty.
Surprising perhaps even herself as she straightened up, hands on the railing, Zintila spoke impulsively and on a whim, calling down to the ghost, just loud enough to be heard. "What is a lost and lonely soul as yourself doing wandering the city so late, spirit?" Her voice was quiet and soft with an ethereal quality to it, but Autumn would have no trouble hearing Zintila from where she stood.
"Do you not have mischief to do or people to haunt? A long lost life to lament?" The questions were perhaps needling, but also genuinely curious as Zintila leaned over her balcony, her glittering golden eyes visible pinpricks of light even from so high up.
She walked with silent steps across the crystalline floor of her chambers to the skyglass doors of her balcony, the train of her navy dress drifting behind her, the material glittering silver and gold as if it was made of the night sky itself. The doors parted silently for her approach, and she stepped outside into the cool night air, inhaling deeply as she approached the railing. She leaned gently on it, propping her chin in one hand as she stared up at the streaking lights in the sky.
The stars twinkled back at her, so close but so far, and she heard their delicate, shimmering chiming gracing her ears; a sliver of twinkling sound like the brush of a butterfly's wings, audible to none within the city except for her. And Zintila began to sing, ever so softly.
The area around the Twuele was relatively quiet; celebrations were usually kept away from the government buildings and more focused on the entertainment sections of the peaks, and indeed, most were busy with the celebrations, laughing and dancing and drinking. But anyone who passed through the streets below the Twuele would hear just the faintest voice, achingly beautiful and full of sorrow and love and longing, in a delicate crystalline tone and a language they couldn't quite place.
And if anyone were to look up, they would see the softly glowing, glittering form of Zintila herself, leaning on the railing of her balcony so high up, looking at the sky and singing the song of the stars.
This is what greeted the ghost of Autumn Rose as she, for her own reasons, drifted past the Twuele that fateful night; this is what enraptured her, as it would any being short of those who were divine and accustomed to such things. Mortal or immortal, living or undead, the whisper of the alvina's voice on the winds, pitched high with her song, seemed like it could have stopped a war.
Zintila knew she was being watched. She did not care, for the time being; she continued to sing until she finished her song, her voice fading out to nothingness. Only then did she turn her gaze downwards to the streets; she could feel, even from so high up on her balcony, the cold brush of undead, ghostly air that floated around her spirit spectator. Whether Autumn was choosing to show herself or not, the alvina could see the shimmering air where she stood in the darkness without much difficulty.
Surprising perhaps even herself as she straightened up, hands on the railing, Zintila spoke impulsively and on a whim, calling down to the ghost, just loud enough to be heard. "What is a lost and lonely soul as yourself doing wandering the city so late, spirit?" Her voice was quiet and soft with an ethereal quality to it, but Autumn would have no trouble hearing Zintila from where she stood.
"Do you not have mischief to do or people to haunt? A long lost life to lament?" The questions were perhaps needling, but also genuinely curious as Zintila leaned over her balcony, her glittering golden eyes visible pinpricks of light even from so high up.