prompt 30; aether
anon ask
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https://fires-at-the-yawning-grave.tumblr.com/post/636682734532706304/300-followers-event
prompt 30: stars
delicate wings of starlight flare in the wind, and your hand is warm in his as the two of you make the perilous journey up the watchtower. eight is plenty old enough to sneak out of bed, he had said after shushing your whines of protest, but now he finds his palms wet with anxiety and your wings bump his with every step. the thought of being caught creeps further and further to the forefront of his mind the closer you get to the top, and he’s almost ready to turn back when you gasp; slipping free from his hold to rush ahead.
“h— hey!” he scrambles after you; paying no mind to the creaking steps or the looming shadows.
“aether, look!” you’re wings flutter with delight, and his heart jumps at the sight of you leaning over the splintering bannister.
“don’t touch that,” he snaps; tugging you away by the back of your nightgown. you ignore him, and continue to point at the sky.
“look, it’s us!”
annoyed, he turns his gaze to the heavens, and his breath catches in his throat.
viator and viatrix glitter side-by-side; their stars exceptionally bright with the new moon. above them, he sees the conservator and below, the domina.
“can we go there, one day?” you ask; eyes never leaving the sky as you lean into his side.
he blinks.
“to our constellations?”
you shake your head, fingers twisting the sleeve of his shirt as you mumble.
“no. i want to fly in space, like daddy. i want to touch stars and visit planets. can we do that?”
oh.
it’s a tantalizing thought, like the sticky buns that the cooks bake at the week’s end, and his wings twitch; catching the breeze. carefully, he flaps, once, twice, three times, and then he’s in the air; shaky but afloat. you gape at the sight.
“aether.” you whisper, and he holds out his hands.
“you too,” he says, “let’s go.”
your own wings, slender and narrow unlike his, flutter.
“i can’t.” you whine. “my wings are too small. you heard mommy.”
“mother’s a liar,” he snaps; stealing your hands and tugging you up. he wobbles dangerously with your added weight, and you yelp.
“aether, stop, we’re gonna fall!”
“beat your wings,” he orders, because you’ll be right otherwise. “hard, and fast.”
you do as he says, kicking up a strong breeze as you flap, and flap, and flap. slowly, but surely, you steady yourselves, and he squeezes your hands tight.
“you’re flying,” he breathes. “you’re really, really flying.”
the smile you give him then is brighter than all the stars in the sky, and he knows he would do anything to protect it. even taking the meanest switching known to man after father finds you two in the air; alone and high enough to kill if either of you fell.
but the iced lemon cakes you sneak him after supper are sweeter than usual, and he finds that his bottom doesn’t sting as much after.