Private Tales The Storm With No End

[Mylo]

When she touched his face, his eyes fluttered open, wide, awed, boyish again. Her thumb against his cheekbone made his breath hitch.

Dreamer, she called him, Her dreamer. He’d never been called anything so soft in his life. Had never been claimed by words either. Hers. Gods... if only.

“And dream I shall. Every night, for as long as I live..” he whispered, gravelly as though he'd just been woken from the most comfortable of sleeps.

And still, when she offered one more, his lips curved in a helpless, crooked grin. “I’d be a fool to refuse.”

He met her halfway, slower, deeper, his hand kneading gently at the back of her neck, his thumb brushing her jaw as if to memorise the shape of her. The kiss lingered longer than it should have, a tangle of soft sighs and unspoken need before he finally pulled away, breath unsteady.

He smiled faintly. “You’ve gone and ruined me, Angel.. Something for your notes."

 

[Stasya]

Stasya laughed, returning to her seat but still kept to leaning on the side of his bed. "Tell me more about yourself, Mylo. I want to know all I can of you."

He was not entirely innocent, but Stasya was confident she could make a case be heard before the Princess... the only thing was she needed Nadya's word to back up her plea. Stasya knew her sister would give a lecture, and if not her, Cullen would. Everyone seemed to have their minds made up about Mylo, but Stasya was a firm believer in her guy about knowing who was a truly genuine person.

"Your full name... maybe about where you grew up?" What was a younger Mylo like?

She smiled at him, for he had called her an angel once again. Her lips still tingled from their shared kisses, but she did not wish to be caught kissing a patient while on duty. Even if the halls were quiet, the medics all knew who her sister was.

 

[Mylo]

He was in a dream, drifting somewhere between waking and the soft haze she’d left behind on his lips. The world beyond her felt unreal, the faint lamplight, the smell of linen and medicinal herbs and lilac perfume.. but she was real. Her hand, warm and delicate, fit perfectly in his as he took it and drew it gently against his chest.

“Oh… well,” he began, his voice a low murmur. “My full name is Mylo James Penrose.” A small, self deprecating smile tugged at his mouth. “Both my parents are gone now. You’ve already met my brothers, sorry about that, and I had a little sister once.” His gaze drifted to the ceiling, his tone quieting. “After our mother died, my father gave her away. Said he couldn’t feed us all and daughters were a mother's job.” He swallowed, forcing the next breath.

He paused, his thumb absently brushing along her knuckles. “My family are part of the Stille. We were travellers, long before the city walls were built, some say even before Thanasis itself. The old tales claim we had magic in our blood, once, before the dragons took it from us. When they bound us here, we couldn’t leave, so we stayed. Became the Stille - the still ones.”

A faint smile returned to his face, wistful and proud all at once. “We still keep our painted caravans, we live in the forest hills, just beyond the city. Our fires still burn at night, the songs are still sung. We remember who we were.”

His eyes flicked back to her, soft and curious. “Now you,” he murmured, that lazy grin curling at his lips..

 

[Stasya]

Something familiar about what he said came forth, but she was glad for his explanation, for it helped her understand what she remembered. They lived in communities usually, and celebrated a close knit bond between their people. At least, in her books, they all knew how to dance and sing to express their happiness.

Stasya could inagine him dancing, his smile lighting uo the world as he laughed. She suddenly grew jealous of any girl that danced with him before.

"I never knew what about the Stille... magic... imagine how different life would be if your people still held that..." she pondered aloud. Her brush with magic was the dragons, and more specifically Faye's blind dragon, Cathán. As a white dragon, they were more susceptible to possessing magic, and he was able to heal others by calming them enough to accept the assistance.

"Did you live by the forest your entire life? Did you visit Thanasis many times before now?"

 

[Mylo]

Mylo smiled faintly at her words, though there was a wistfulness in it, a quiet kind of ache that lingered behind his eyes. A lust for power, when he'd always felt so powerless, perhaps. “Hm…” he murmured, his gaze drifting somewhere distant. “Maybe it’s better we lost it. We’d only have found ways to ruin ourselves with it.”

Her question drew him back. “Oh, I visited the city often,” he said lightly, though the faint wince that flickered across his features betrayed more than he intended. He didn’t elaborate, but it wasn’t hard to imagine him slipping through crowded markets, hands light as shadows as they picked through pockets and market stalls. “But yes,” he added quietly, “I’ve lived by the forests all my life..”

Then he glanced back at her, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You didn’t answer my question,” he said softly. “What was it like, growing up a Lady of Thanasis? All silks and tutors and... dragon galas, I imagine?” His tone was teasing, but there was a gentle curiosity beneath it, a yearning to see the world she came from , a world so far from his own.

 

[Stasya]

Her cheeks warmed, that he noticed she had not answered a question when she had been so enraptured by him. She wanted to tell him to not be afraid and tell her everything of his life. Stasya would not judge him for it.

Leaning forward a little, Stasya found his eyes and met them with serenity. "I had more of a focus on myself growing up. Nadya was bonded to the last remaining Storm Dragon in Thanasis, and so that made all look at me to see if I would follow in her footsteps. Participate in the Rising perhaps, find myself a dragon... instead, I liked the comfort of silk and dances." Her hand flexed in his as worry set in between her brows. "Dragons terrified me. Seeing Kalyss up close the first time, I cried!" Stasya let out a burst of laughter, for she could laugh about it now. "And the same with Cullen's dragon, Meala. I have come to learn not to fear them. I only need to learn how they act, become familiar with them."

Stasya got caught in his stare. His eyes were flecks and flickers of colour; the green caught in various shades captivated her a moment. Mylo certainly possessed eyes of a dreamer. "I am to be the next in line for the title, as Nadya stepped down as heir to pursue her goal of reaching the high ranks within the Thunder. Suitors and friends came and went, but my father told us to choose whoever we wanted. Our mother has the final say, of course. The title is handed down to the women in House Caliar. An old curse, one that saw the original Great House come to end." She crinkled her nose, realising that she was going off topic.

"I have not spoken this much in a long while." She admitted, but she liked sharing all of this with someone of interest.

 

[Mylo]

Mylo listened as if every word she spoke was a thread weaving him deeper into her world. His thumb stroked slowly across her knuckles. Not consciously, but in that soft, dazed way of someone who didn’t quite realise how mesmerised they were.

A quiet smile tugged at his lips when she laughed about crying at the dragons. “Hm… well, that’s alright,” he murmured gently. “They’re pretty damned terrifying.” His gaze dipped for a moment. “Especially when they try to rip you in two…” The ache in his wounds seemed to echo the memory, and he shifted slightly, but the smile returned soon enough.

When she spoke of titles and suitors, something in him tightened. The smile faltered, just a little, like a candle touched by a draft. But he didn’t interrupt, didn’t let the discomfort show beyond that fleeting dimness.

“I hope,” he said quietly, “whoever your mother agrees upon knows how lucky he is.” The words came out steady, but the thought of anyone else beside her settled like a boulder in his chest.

Then he exhaled, soft and warm. “I would hear you speak all day, every day,” he confessed, a hint of wonder threading through his voice. “You have a very soothing voice.." He smiled up at her, tired and smitten all at once.

 

[Stasya]

How could she resist when he possessed a smile that lit up worlds and emotions within her? He drew her closer, his own voice pulling her back in. "Mother listens to Nadya..." The two were one and the same, but Nadia held more authority by having bonded Kalyss.

Stasya pulled his hand to lips and pressed a kiss gently on the back of his thumb. "No one has ever caught my eye quite like you, Mylo James Penrose." Her eyes noted the exhaustion creeping in on him, and she gave him one last smile.

She stood, leaned in and pressed her lips to his forehead. "You need rest. Your body has been through a lot in it's recovery. I myself need to get home and rest for I have not slept like you have." A sheepish smile, and she lingered close to his face before her eyes glanced to his lips.

"I will visit you every day you are here, and I will see you where ever they keep you before the trial." Before she could hesitate, Stasya pressed her lips to his and drew out the moment until she needed to breathe. When she pulled away, she lifted a finger to his lips absently. They still tingled, and would for a few hours more, but it filled her with a giddiness. "It may be insanity, but I wish to see you free Mylo. I wish to not steal moments in between to get to know you better... maybe court each other."

She did not see him below her in station. Not when her sister fought for a life not bound by ancient traditions. Stasya wanted the same, wanted her younger sisters to grow up and choose their own lives.

 

[Mylo]

No one has ever caught my eye quite like you, Mylo James Penrose.

His breath caught in his lungs. It hit him with the force of a physical blow. For a moment, he forgot the ache in his ribs, the burning in his back, the weight of iron around his wrist. All he could do was stare at her as though she had just spoken some impossible dream into existence. His heart stuttered, kicked, soared.

Her.

The most beautiful creature he had ever seen; gentle in ways he had never known, brave in ways she didn’t even realise. Her smile could warm the frost from his bones. And she had eyes for him? His lips parted on a soft, shaky inhale, his pulse drumming unevenly.

He must have died. Truly. Died and the gods were playing a cruel or blessed trick on him.

The brush of her mouth against his forehead, had his lashes fluttering shut and a fragile, wordless sound leaving him; the kind of sound a man makes when he’s being touched with tenderness for the first time in his life and doesn’t know how to hold it.

As she leaned in, he lifted his free hand, fingers brushing a strand of her dark hair back behind her ear. His eyes drank her in with open adoration, utterly besotted. “So beautif—”

Her lips silenced the word. And fuck, he melted into them. His hand slid to cradle the back of her head, holding her gently, kissing her back with a deep sigh. His heart hammered hard enough that he swore she could feel it.. Something in him something old, lonely, wounded, reached for her as though it knew her.

When she pulled away, he was smiling helplessly, dimples deep in his cheeks, dazed and glowing. Then she mentioned courting and he froze.

“Me?…” his brows rose.

The flush of heat crept up his neck, blooming across his cheeks. “I.. I don’t know much about ‘courting’, M-milady, or… or if that’s even allowed, I mean I’m…” He glanced down at himself, at the chains, at the bruises, the battered remains of a man who had scraped his way through life.

How could he ever measure up to her? Her society would never allow it. But, fuck society, if she wanted to walk beside him then who was he to say otherwise?

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet her eyes again, and the wonder there softened him. “It would be a dream, to spend any amount of time with you, Anastasia.” he whispered.

His smile curved tiredly but warmly as he relaxed back into the pillows. “Go. Rest. And come back to me.”
He lifted his manacled wrist with a wry smirk, the metal clinking softly. “I’ll be… here.”