[ Otherwise, the man's former sentiment would have no purpose at all.
Patient in his observation, Sion sinks to the sand beside the drawing with a seamless air of grace, disturbing neither the artist nor the sediment which is his canvas, but casting a gentle glow of light across the illustration with his presence all the same. It accompanies him, wherever he goes, that aura, stemming from the blood which runs incandescent through his veins, and as it illuminates the ladder before him...
Sion's hand hovers over a finished portion of the image, tracing over it in the air with delicate motions, as though he meant to commit it to memory. ]
It is too beautiful a thing, to only ever be intended. The skies should always be within reach.
[ Do you mourn it? Sion thinks but does not say. ]
no subject
[ Otherwise, the man's former sentiment would have no purpose at all.
Patient in his observation, Sion sinks to the sand beside the drawing with a seamless air of grace, disturbing neither the artist nor the sediment which is his canvas, but casting a gentle glow of light across the illustration with his presence all the same. It accompanies him, wherever he goes, that aura, stemming from the blood which runs incandescent through his veins, and as it illuminates the ladder before him...
Sion's hand hovers over a finished portion of the image, tracing over it in the air with delicate motions, as though he meant to commit it to memory. ]
It is too beautiful a thing, to only ever be intended. The skies should always be within reach.
[ Do you mourn it? Sion thinks but does not say. ]