She grew up in the clutches of poverty; He was raised in the lap of luxury.
She hated nobles; He couldn't be bothered with commoners.
Her heart hidden deep in thorny vines; His one burning in his sleeves.
She was the recently orphaned flower seller;...
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Isolde's POV
The vines were moving. Towards something.
They were slithering up a dark alter.
The alter with a beheaded statue.
Sol. It was Sol's statue.
They kept slithering until they reached the man in the middle of the alter.
Tentatively, they moved closer to him.
He was asleep; with a peaceful face.
Dressed in white, he was a stark contrast to the black marble floor.
Like life and death. Ying and Yang.
His blood-red hair pooled around his head like a halo in the darkness.
Like the first drop of blood from Erebus and Aether that dripped on the chest of Chaos and gave birth to Sol and Selena.
I recognize him.
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"Isolde? Midget?" a concerned voice shakes me awake.
I winch at the brightness of Sol's rays as soon as I try to open my eyes. I sometimes wonder if Sol holds a special grudge against me.
Well joke's on him, I hold a grudge against him too.
I could see Akira frowning at me from above. Water dripped from his shoulder-length hair.
Wait, where am I?
"Good morning, Shorty," Akira says, the frown on his face disappearing slowly.
"Good Morning, Akira," I reply, without some stupid nickname, mind you. I was more mature than that.
I slowly stand up from my position. Back sour from falling asleep in an odd position.
"Did you have a nightmare, midget? You were shaking," Akira asks from the front of the mirror where he was drying his hair with a towel. I could see the concerned frown on his face in the mirror.
