origin.

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TWO
sleeping at last
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↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

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Night.

Bliss for some, insignificant for others.

The sky was a twinkling canvas with infinite borders, adorned in midnight colors, painted with the fathomless magic of stars boundless. Blushing gorgeously like glittering snow was the moon, unimaginably far from ordinary touch, reigning over a realm of its own. Singing in praise of this beauty were the howling beasts hidden away in the shadows, crying for a place to be, afraid of the banishment they were presently impelled in. The wind danced around gracefully, murmuring softly to whoever it kissed.

Nyx Hayden, part of those to whom night meant utopia, sat on her window sill, completely still and silent. 

The fire in her amber eyes was strong like the moon's wintery glow, gazing up at all that it commanded. Her cinnamon hair moved in accordance with the whistling breeze, ever so delicately clashing against the icy skin of her flushed face. Bewitched by the stupefying night and what completed it, her rosy lips stayed parted in awe, unnoticeably pulled up by the corners into something that couldn't immediately be recognized as a smile, but wasn't enough to classify as a frown either. 

Having befriended the cold long ago, not immune to its cruel nips still, the girl sat unbothered by the chilly air, allowing it to embrace her into its frosty arms.

The nyctophile had an indefinable beauty, the sort that was simple yet enchanting, one that the world failed to realize. 

She didn't mind, though, having accepted the solitary of her yearning soul even when it hurt more than ever to walk alone, to not have a promising hand to hold. 

The night was her element, she had the power to command it in rhythm with her spirits. This was where she felt gladly received. 

It wasn't home, no. 

It was, though, a space that belonged to her, somewhere she belonged too. 

She treasured it, the lone wolf in her couldn't wait to share what was hers - the night - with somebody else, somebody who was in love with the beauty of darkness just as much as she was.

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Constellations.

Meaningful to some, tangles to others.

Azriel Logan had fallen in love with stars the moment he had pointed a small, chunky finger up at the shimmering sky as a child. 

Years later, even today as he lay in the warmth of his bed, his hazel eyes held the same fascinated glint, the oceanic flecks of his irises glistening, as he gazed up at his ceiling that held every constellation he'd studied about. His raven hair, smooth like silk with the glow of the moon, sat sprawled on his pillow in ruffled waves.

The boy didn't have the strongest cheekbones, but the dip in his cheeks was structured nonetheless, firm and toned like his jaw. His lips, tinted with a dash of crimson, rested sealed and wordless. 

He was as dangerous as thunder, calm like lightning, beautiful as the night. 

With a soul badly torn and heavily guarded, the raven monster let the havoc in his mind drown him into an abyss where nobody was empowered to save him. His thoughts were a chaotic storm put together with the sole intent of either making it a struggle for him to surface from his bottomless pit of horrors, or to plunge him in wholly. 

There was no in-between. 

It was scary how even in a state as undisturbed and seemingly calm as his current one, it was impossible for the mayhem in his head, the fire in his heart to stop echoing in his ears deafeningly.

He was straying further and further away from all that he once was, wanting absolutely no remembrance of who he used to be. It was the person he'd lost that was responsible for what he had become. 

He was hurting, the shattered bits of him were slowly turning into ashes that if and once gone, would be undoable to put back together. 

Damaged to the deepest, he feared the risk of holding another hand that would only tear his heart out and crush it into dying embers.

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