The fae had picked up a new hobby to deal with the emotions she felt inside, especially after meeting with so many other leaders and driving out an evil force. She was writing a short verse, a soft melody made up of the ghost of the clattering song the willows had sung in winter. The meaning she'd rather not reveal, given its silliness and sappiness - she was queen, not a high school cheerleader. She found a spot 'neath a willow so large that its curtains obscured her view of the outside - yet she forgot that this made her voice not any less audible.

She sung, softer than she wanted to, still only testing her voice out in this place near the borders, 'neath the sky of the summer evening.

Unnoticed he would be as she hummed the parts she hadn't finished yet - a great unfinished symphony, much like the court itself. It would stay unfinished if she were to give up on it - it was a strange thought, knowing she had the power to change so much, for being so little in stature. Still, she sought not to brag, but be grateful for the opportunities she'd been given.

She continued, sighing softly as her voice faded out and reality returned to her. The contents of the song were private, her little hobby very much a secret still. Still, she wished to do just this at the summer festival, should they be able to have one this year. She'd still have to write it, yes, but if not this summer then maybe the coming wint'r would do for her debut.

Her eyes were closed as she simply took in the moment, the sobering evening air filling her lungs and keeping her from feeling sleepy. The heat of summer was often the reason she'd nap in quiet afternoons, but the nights felt like the universe's natural state. They were cold enough to send a shiver down your spine, but warm enough to sit outside in a summer coat and take a dive in the lake.

But her heart skipped a beat and her eyes fluttered open in shock at the sound of a voice - the surprise making her unable to recognize at first. She twirled her body around to face whomever had been listening, and her cheeks flushed a deep apple red at the sight of the young man the song had been written for. Oh dear — you weren't supposed to hear that. She said, calm due to shock and embarrassment. She wasn't able to look him in the eyes then as they drifted off to anything but him.

Could she fault him in her surprise for passing by without an alternative motive? Well, yes, because she in a way was by being so flustered by his presence. Still, she'd rather have him hear her than any other faerie in their court, if only because she believed he would not make fun of her for singing. The fire faeries would not understand the gentleness of her melodies nor the meaning of her words, she thought - especially Aoibh didn't seem like someone who'd enjoy her verses all that much.

She wilted, the tension in her muscles releasing now that her mind knew that she was safe. She felt drained instead of fulfilled, her privacy stained. Her secret was out, and all she could hope was that her lyrics had been vague enough in describing her feelings that Dante was unable to connect the dots.

She dragged herself to the midst of the circular curtain that engulfed them, seeking comfort in the willow and the misplaced trust she'd put in its abilities to keep her from being discovered. Her ears draped 'ver her delicately crafted skull, the pounding of her heart a slowing beat as she calmed herself down. No, she could not fault him - it was her fault for being so careless. A frightening thought then crossed her mind; had she secretly wanted for him to come?

How much did you hear...? She asked, realizing it was silly to get mad at him for nothing more than listening. He'd been kind, gave her compliments - nothing had changed, really, by having him know the secret passion she'd kept hidden since the alliance with the sea folk had been formed. Little did she know that the question she posed would perhaps confirm his suspicions, though it wasn't as he thought.

Though the fae was honest and open, there were many things she'd rather not speak of. With such an active mind and a less than desirable upbringing, she'd be lying that the odd grim thought did not cross it. Silent judgments, secrets, regrets — wrapped inside a bright, blue-white silk fabric. Though she felt very close to Dante, perhaps the closest she'd ever been to someone, there were things left unsaid between them. He didn't ask, she didn't tell - why was she fine with that?

Hmm... She hummed as a reply, gaze seeking his own to see if he was being truthful. Of course, she didn't know for sure, but a face to match the words certainly always helped. When feelings were heavy, they were all someone became - oozing out of every pore, you could sense it, like the bumblebee could smell fear.

She perked up a bit, ears pressed forward to make sure she'd heard him right. She rose from her wilted position, tipping her head to one side. You too? She asked, a sparkle of mischief in her gaze.

She was oblivious to the commanding presence she possessed - it really did come naturally to her, perhaps a remnant of her mother still left within her. There was a surprising amount of oddities the two women shared, though the fae would never admit to being akin to the other - neither would Nocturnal call herself anything like her daughter. They seemed opposites, but actually, they were more like dawn and dusk instead of night and day.

A playful smile crept onto her face as he answered, inching closer into his aura, her nose leading the way. A gleam washed over her eyes, shaking her head in an upwards motion and a lift of a single shoulder, a display of fake confidence. Well, I suppose it's only fair for you to sing me something too then — We can call it even after that. She challenged lightly. She'd much rather they both be embarrassed and grow from it then forever see this memory as something unpleasant.

She nodded, smiling, every time a 'nother doubt crept into his voice. He always talked so much - she wondered if it was something within his family that had caused this, like her proper manners were within her own. Parents often didn't realize how much they shaped their children, how much they took from them within knowing... It was strangely disturbing to the small fae. How much of her father's mercilessness had she in her? How much of her mother's habits of blood lust and suffering?

I can... close my eyes if you want me to. She replied to his last comment before his performance, closing them no matter the answer so she could focus better. Though he said not to have high expectations, she always had them; it was probably the reason she was disappointed so much, especially in individuals such as Donovan. But, even if Dante went as far off key as one could possibly manage, she would probably still be satisfied. That he was willing to do this, to make her at ease and to play fair, said more about him than the beauty of his voice ever could.

In the pause before he began, one eyelash fluttered as she opened an eye to get a quick glimpse of him. He closed his eyes in turn, she did the same as she drifted away, carried by the soft notes and melody. She felt light listening to him - the meaning of his words lost only because she was focused on the voice. Was this what it had felt like, listening to her? She supposed she was obliged to share then her gift, share the joy... though she almost selfishly wanted this to belong to only Dante and her.

I've got nothing on your voice, if that was what you were worried about... She eventually spoke, having come closer to him without having realized. If allowed to do so, she'd rest her head against his shoulder, a content little smile on her maw as she sighed a deep breath. You're lucky to have grown up around music like that - I'm quite jealous, and curious.

Startled, she was, out of the conscious slumber she'd been put in by the atmosphere around them. It was no easy feet to startle the small fae - despite her size, she stood quite stable and confident in most circumstances. It only lasted a moment, where she pulled back quite suddenly, scanning his face to see how serious he was about accusing her. Luckily, he wasn't at all, and she let out a high chuckle. With it came her anxieties, and she bumped her head to his shoulder quickly after. Gods, you're so silly — you nearly had me there. She commented in an airy voice as the adrenaline slowly left her body.

She relaxed, feeling serene with the little mouse she hadn't had to lure with cheese. He seemed to genuinely want to be with her, which was all she could ask for, being so inexperienced in loving and being loved in return. Even if he would turn out not to be hers in the end, she was grateful - oh so very grateful for his presence here and the moments they shared. She needed this, to distract from her duties but also as a person.

Well, we had bodies lining our borders. She answered truthfully, expression turning a little grim. My mother carried with her a rotting tongue she'd taken straight out of someone's mouth - my father painted himself in blood and declared himself a holy spirit of sorts. Surprise to say, there was little room for singing, or me... How heavy this was on her light spirit - how good it felt sharing her past for once. She was filled up with emotions, about to burst, but this allowed her to slowly let it out. There was no reason for a scene, but this was necessary, she found - if he did wish to be her lover, he better know all of her. She was afraid to look up then, not knowing what to expect now that Dante knew of where she'd come from.

She looked at him, the dew of emotion creating sparkles in her eyes. Was she even looking at another, or was he an imagined gift she'd received from the Gods she would never know? There was not a moment she doubted his words - they were the truest thing she'd heard in moons, and yet she'd needed to hear it. There was no need to prove herself to the universe and her faeries... There was room for her, and she'd not hide away the strength she possessed. Like a gentle earthquake, she intensified. In that moment, she wished for Dante to stay by her side till the end of time - he was her comfort, her friend, her rock to lean on when the going got tough. No, he was more than that, but she could not express nor come up with the words to describe such an unearthly thing.

She closed her eyes, pressed them shut against his shoulder 'till the black became a kaleidoscope of swirling colours. I wasn't wanted there - too different from what a Melonii is supposed to be, they said. He'd probably not know what she was talking of - being new to the realm and all - but her last name meant more to her than anyone knew. You've probably never heard of my family, but they reigned terror down on this realm for generations. I came out wrong, but the Faeries took me in without so much as the blink of an eye. I've been trying to right their wrongdoings ever since, that's why I'm here, that's why this all - She gasped for air, motioning to the willows around them. - why it all means so much to me. She fell silent then, seeking yet again that earnest expression from her closest confidant with a dewy expression, accumulating in the corners of her eyes. Perhaps it came across as silly - a young, ambitious girl, trying to make right all that her family had ruined, not even knowing where to begin.

She heard him call, so quietly - there was a buzz in her ear, but the bees were nowhere near. She felt hot on the inside, like she was a geyser 'bout to 'xplode. He was keeping her together the best he could, and succeeded in doing so with his grasp so tight. She couldn't remember the last time someone held her so tight, like they were about to lose her and couldn't bare to let go. No, this was a new sensation - creation. He cared, he cared whether she was here or away - he cared for what she felt and thought and did and he'd say; Hey love, breathe with me, okay?

The glaze of sadness that had settled 'ver her gaze lightened, cleared. The fur 'neath her wildflower eyes were darkened by moisture, sticking up in weird places where she'd brushed against Dante. She looked pathetic for a Melonii, but perfect for a Lumiya.

Not cruel. Not an unkindness. Not responsible. The words echoed, in slow motion, unraveling her further. They spoke against what she'd always been taught, yet rung clear and sincere. They carried with them not the sting of poison, but the awakening itch of wounds healing. You are good, not wrong. And then a beautiful metaphor presented itself to her. She was the generation of vegetation after the fire - given the opportunity and half a chance, the new generation could grow back stronger than the one before. They let the universe go red, but it spoke to her with love, and she'd make a soft universe.

In a sudden jolt of energy, she pushed her weight against him, perhaps enough to make them both take a tumble, and she had to still her sobs before she could speak again. Thank you. Her thankfulness was immeasurable, and she didn't know how to express it. Thank you. She repeated, in case he hadn't heard - in case the whole universe hadn't heard. She lifted her head from whatever position they were in right about now, be it upright or else, and looked at him with a bright smile. The tears that now spilled from her wildflower eyes were those of joy, like this whole experience hadn't been a roller coaster just yet.

Their twisted body parts moved synchronized then, as her heart jumped into her throat. A quiet squeak could not be stopped from spilling as she sent them down to the ground. For a moment it felt like they fell right through it - like they couldn't stay here, drifting as they were. Her mind felt fuzzy, heavy with tears and memories of a never-forgotten past. No longer was she the little girl that couldn't stand up for herself or love herself - she walked alone, she was everything and she knew her soul believed.

She laughed - first softly, just with her chest. As she got up a little, gathered herself, it grew a bit more clear. She took a couple of deep breaths, not completely sure how she was supposed to be feeling right about now. All this time she'd been lying to herself, putting sorrow on her shoulders. How far had she run, all that weight that dragged behind? It brought her where she wanted to be, with Dante, in the forest of her dreams - a summer 'eve, 'neath the sky that would see the rise of her court, the rise of a branch of Meloniis that were good and she'd tell them that every day.

Hey, Dante. She spoke at last, her voice raspier than before. I'm glad you heard me - you know, the song being for you and all. She mentioned as casually as she could, truly Dante-style, giving him a playful side-eye.