Enslaved Heart (enslaved_heart) wrote in halcyon_houses, @ 2008-02-09 18:59:00 |
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Entry tags: | asya, diarmad |
Week Three: Monday
When: Monday Night
Where: Their Room
Who: Diarmad and Asya
Diarmad could feel her in the air; he could sense her movements cutting through the falling rain. Still he stayed perched upon the balcony railing, large wings curled around his large form as his dark eyes pierced through the night. Watching. He had not moved for hours, taking place the moment the sun had fallen from the sky. He knew tonight she'd return, she'd waited as long as she could and now returned knowing Diarmad had been pushed past all points of patience. All words to allude to nothing more then a vacation away were a waste, a pathetic attempt to treat him as though he were a fool.
She stayed this long away for reason. What that reason was, the why of it, he knew he did not truly wish to know. Yet he knew he had need to. If she would speak it, that was another matter all together. He was only slave and had no rights to any answers. She had made that clear to him before leaving. Reminding him always of his place in this life she had created for them.
Rain fell; the soft sound of it filled the night and yet brought no ease to Diarmad's frame. The sting of the rain did not chill the bare flesh of his shoulders; it did not sooth away troubles or ills as he waited. It was simply background to racing thoughts that would not still even when she finally showed herself. Such thoughts had not stopped for days, weeks....
To many it was obvious something was amiss, something troubling him that he'd not speak. Even words with Rebecca and Cora had been brief. There was little he could say to them, no words to truly offer. He knew to curb his anger, he knew to keep control and that he had many reasons that made that need so. Yes he knew, he understood, he had for centuries now. Constantly fighting those urges to simply give in, to let all of who he was slip away.
But honor bound him just as her own blood did. He could not disgrace the blood in his veins that was not hers. His family. They taught him strength that he could not forget.
Nearer and nearer she drew to the school, not even a muscle twitched in movement. Diarmad was still as a statue, appearing nearly frozen as though stone skin kept him there. But eyes surveyed the area seen from that balcony. Diarmad was awake as he’d been for weeks now. Waiting.
Soon the car could be seen in the distance, the headlights cutting through the night. Diarmad could see the outline of the driver, a servant that would be put in charge of ensuring all her bags were brought to the room as well. Never would the princess drive her own self nor carry her own bags. Though she was princess no longer in this world, little would change her ways.
The car stilled, the man scrambled with the bags as Diarmad watched. He did not leave his perch to give aid. His eyes were trained on the car where he knew she sat, delaying. Not even the movement of the servant at the door bringing those bags in turned Diarmads gaze. No he’d wait as long as she. He’d make her face him from first step out of that car.