Emberflame Ridge Shake off the frost inside my soul

Butterfly; danseuse of air, it pirouetted and twirled, a mirage of honey-brown birling fluently into vermillion. This organic cloak, it draped over her shoulders and glittered in the summer’s cordial glow, enthralling to the eye, mesmerising as her wings glided the air – but gone, soon, drifting away as a leaf might into the undergrowth below.

His gaze shifted upward to meet the fae’s, sage (but ever so more vivid) orbs peering into the bi-coloured eyes that danced upon her own features. The third woman with such a stare he’d encountered in the erstwhile days – an enigma he was quite unable to explain. She was young, he noted, younger than he, and while they shared the monochrome hues that lay unto their pelts, her pelage appeared more akin to the tenebrosity of night, pale luminescence of the moon alighting her skin; his own, was crafted of smoke and bestrewed with dustings of chalk.

“Hello,” he murmured, tongue resonant with his speech. His voice was low; gruff, worn with the days cast in his lonesome; a stark contrast from her own. In silence, he stood, uncertain of his own presence before canting his chin toward herself. “I hope I didn’t disturb you.”