Blackfeather Woods thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead are driven

for electra, other tags for ref <3

He avoids @Taikon and @Takiyok, never allowing a moment alone with either, saying only the bare minimum, always directed at Takiyok. It's easier to look at her. The feeling is strange — not so much a feeling as a compulsion, like the desperate need to look away from the scene of a car crash, the unshakable instinct to flee from even the concept of such destruction. There is some horror in it, some repulsion — at the idea of the heartbreak, at the memory of tears in his eyes and a hasty, messy flight. Yet the feeling has largely been drained from him. Taikon is only doing what he's meant to do, following the path laid out for him. Men like him want women, children. Men like him only cross paths with men like Zephyr briefly, a fleeting burst of rainbow threads, nothing more than another tool used to build the lives they truly want to lead. He's known men like that — always the ones with the most enchanting souls, the ones that are hardest to look away from.
Yet he has turned his gaze away before; from Mal, and from Kavik before him. He has no father now, no future with the spotted alpha of Neverwinter — and he is better off for it. He knows the same is true of Taikon — and he knows, too, that he will always care for him. But he can never truly turn his eyes upon him again; that night on the mountains will forever remain his only glimpse of the summer-woven strands of Taikon's soul. This is Zephyr's will — and so it must be planned. It must be the will of the Daedra, too. Nothing is a mistake.
But his thoughts are wandering far from his purpose, too far. His introspection has switched him to autopilot, he realizes quickly, set him on course for a blinding crash. @Electra's scent is suddenly fresh, and he remembers that he'd been trying to find her, to tell her — ah, fuck.
Heartbreak is so much easier than this.
He halts, calling out. Electra? Why had she left? He remembers it all at once, and Taikon is banished from his mind. Something is off about his sister — and he hasn't even given her the bad news yet. Seeing no other option than to forge ahead, he continues. We need to talk. It's important.

And then she's there, right in front of him, all gold-shining and bitter blue eyes. He feels a fierce swell of protectiveness, all at once, and steps closer. His posture relaxes into something more intimate, brotherly, voice dropping. It's — I don't know how to say this, He admits, letting his guard drop just a little for her, if only for the sake of the fragile connection they've started to form. I don't even know how to deal with it myself — I had so much hatred before and now... He swallows, urging himself to get to the point. Alessia is dead. I found her. Sick. She died right in front of me. He stops himself there, afraid to go on, afraid that his lack of emotion will show too much and Electra will think him a monster. He wants to be there for her properly, the way a brother should be, but he isn't normal — his own threads are colorless, and the possibility of Electra being put off by this is distressing.