|And So He Watches
Author: A Nameless Traveler PM
They don't fully understand why this is happening to them. This attraction... it's never been like this before. 7th part in the Shadows & Seraphim series. Now includes SLASH.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance - Chapters: 2 - Words: 2,676 - Reviews: 4 - Favs: 10 - Updated: 04-19-09 - Published: 04-17-09 - Status: Complete - id: 2661856
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Title: And So He Watches (1/2)
Rating/Genre: Romance/General/PG-13 (for implied slash)
Summary: There are many things that people don't know about the Vampyre and the Fallen Angel. Even things they don't know about each other. So what can they do – but watch and learn?
Time Line: Spring, 2466 A.S. Six months after Tales of a Fallen Seraph.
Ages: Sin – 465 years; Draca – 110 years; Gwen – 26 years; Kyris – 50 years
And So He Watches - Seraphim
"Beauty is not in the face – beauty is a light in the heart."
Contrary to popular belief, Sin knows how to appreciate beauty.
It is not the traditional sort of beauty he appreciates, to be sure. For it is difficult to appreciate such things as supple curves and fine features when he can no longer see them. So he's learned to interpret the spirit as beautiful instead. There are many kinds of beauty that he's Seen – all of them different and unique. These types of beauty know no age, no gender, no disfigurement. But a truly beautiful spirit is both hard to find and too easily corrupted.
His young "fans" in the Haven are beautiful – if overbearing and slightly annoying at times. They hold a kind of innocence and naivety that he cannot help but be protective over. They are too young, too innocent to know any better – mistaking his protective nature for affection. They don't know about the world – about life, love, and the darkness that lurks around every corner. So he contents them with small gestures and acknowledgments, all the while keeping a sharp eye on them. They will grow out of their little crush on him in time.
Gwen. Gwen is his light – the sun that dances into his life day in and day out. It's something that draws his eyes immediately and never fails to bring a smile (if only a near imperceptible one) to his face with its brilliant yellows, golds, greens, and violets. It has done so since she was the tender age of five. There is endless warmth there, and caring and passion and innocence. She is beautiful, his Gwen.
Kyris. Where Gwen is calming and gentle, Kyris is all fire and steel and mischief. Where Gwen is a sun, a moon, a star – Kyris is a flame, a wild fire, an inferno. Her spirit is that of a flame – ever dancing, ever laughing, uncontrollable and wild. But she is also warm and motherly. She tries to take care of him where no one else will, has done so since their meeting decades earlier. He often finds himself simply basking in her presence when something disrupts his normally stoic mood, trying to absorb the innate strength that seems to flow off her in waves. She is beautiful, his Kyris.
He Sees the world in a different kind of beauty. He Sees the world in shades of life – of magic. A sunset means nothing to him. Why should it, when he cannot see it? The color of the sky means nothing to him. No, the sea of Color that flows through the Haven's streets – alive, brilliant, entrancing – that is beautiful. The mythical glens of the Sylvardas – so full of light and life – that is beautiful.
But there is a new kind of beauty which he has discovered.
This new brand of beauty came into his life like a storm, but he had not thought it so beautiful back then. He'd found it annoying, if anything. Infuriating, rather. It has taken him a solid forty-two years to fully See it as anything otherwise. Back then he had been barred by anger and mistrust and contempt. But through the long years of slowly built trust, camaraderie, and friendship, that veil is ripped away.
When he discovers it, this new beauty, it completely blows him away. So much in fact that he finds himself staring openly, a full-fledged smile threatening to slip from beneath his usual stoic mask. It is something unknown to him – completely new and unexpected – and he cannot ask anyone those half-formed questions that pass through his mind.
And so he watches instead, hoping to discover just what it is that makes this new magnificence so alluring.
Black, deep violet, red-orange, and bloody crimson is what its Core is made of. Black wickedness, deep violet gloom, red-orange aggression, and bloody crimson malice. Not exactly something beautiful, is it?
But the Sight is more about interpretation than certainty, and thus it takes in both the mood of the user and the target into account. Considering what he'd thought of the object of his study upon the first meeting, it's not so surprising that his interpretations resulted the way they did.
Black is also elegance and mystery. Deep violet is also dignity and ambition. Red-orange: desire and recklessness. Bloody crimson: willpower and longing. A more fitting description, in his opinion.
However, the swirling whirlwind of Color around that Core is what intrigues him most. Where the Core of a soul is the base personality of a person, the Colors that surround it are the emotions that a person experiences. In most people, he has long since realized, those emotions grapple and intertwine in a fight for dominance.
But not here, no.
The man is so damned expressive. Rarely does his emotions ever war. Rather, they twist and blend and flow side by side – chaotic and and entrancing and so damned beautiful. Even emotions that should be complete opposites: annoyance and affection, sadness and happiness. Always in a chaotic harmony – in a storm of Color.
He is not sure whether to thank or curse his Sight, when it comes to the shocking bursts of Color that begin appearing whenever he is in the man's presence: soft yellow, pale blue, lavender, bloody crimson, and burning red. Happiness, contentment, affection, longing, and lust.
The intensity of that burst of emotion before the scalding orange of shock takes its place startles him, confuses him. But as the days turn to weeks, and the weeks turn to months that particular combination of emotion stays longer, and lingers as he walks away.
It's gradually something he comes to accept – to expect even. It is meaningless in the day to day grind of the Haven life – and he ignores the known or exasperated looks (complete with the grudging mutter of "Men.") that both Kyris and Gwen seem to share more and more often these days.
Draca. Draca, who he knows is handsome and charming because his own senses and the affection of the Haven's female populace tells him so. But that doesn't matter to him. Where Gwen is his sun, and Kyris his flame – Draca is his shade. For Gwen he is strong; from Kyris he draws strength; but with Draca he can relax. Draca's chaos and charm and wit is enough to speak for him, to allow him to drop into the background. When his nerves are frazzled and stretched, Draca's eye-catching, overwhelming presence covers him like a blanket. He hides there behind Draca's chaos, rebuilds his composure, and emerges as impeccable as ever. Draca challenges him, casually and almost unknowingly. Friendly competitions that keep him on his toes and throws a dash of variety into his previously monotonous life. He is beautiful, his Draca. So damned beautiful.
But he'd be damned if he ever says that to anyone. Kyris and Gwen go blissfully ignored.
"Beauty is not in the face – beauty is a light in the heart."
Walk on, Traveler of Worlds.
Just a short little drabble-esque fic to help bridge the gap between the last story and the next one.
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