Night in the North was a sight to be seen, and Argent found it absolutely breathtaking. Her crimson eyes peeled upward, pressed to the star-dusted blanket of the heavens, observing the celestial dances above. Moonlight and starlight blended together beautifully, and Argent wondered when it was that so many stars had found a place in the sky. She had never seen quite so many before, and yet there they were, shining on eternally and guiding all sorts of clich? lost souls. She was not such a soul, at least not anymore; she?d followed her internal northern star right to where she belonged, back in the arms of the King she loved.
With a sigh she would lay down on the cold ground, a chill running along her spine as she did so. Argent did not plan to remain for long, for that would be a foolish thing to do in the biting cold when she was still rather underweight and she?d developed a slight cough, but she couldn?t help herself. She was still somewhat young and foolish, and for the past year she?d been so numb and dead. Now that she was finally alive again, the air had never tasted so sweet and the stars had never shined so bright.

His gaze is a thousand hells agape, their maws outstretched on in their chilling fervor. O Heathcliff whose love betrayed, whose temper smoldered in silence like the harrowing tempest he was. Drawling contempt blistering in throes of lacklustre thrall? a thrum, a dirge that drew from the black. He is a spider to crawl, a devil to waltz through the terrace of common deceit; from his lips bleed his anger, his intrigue, sorrow and deepening ache. In him drained the deathly chill of a pyre long laid to smoke and cease ? his weariness like a spell to possess his ghoulish demeanor, all the while intimate in his gracious exhibition of imperial grandeur. He were a creature born of lust and ruination, and halved of their morality still; a patron of beauty in war, the art of bloodshed in its finest filigree. A mass of knotted muscle and slender bones that broke the night in its cold descent upon the valley, his is the presence of chivalry in death. There was not a cry in heaven that bound him to his promises, there was nothing - nothing, a nothing that drew from the pitfall of his deepest sins, a nothing that poured through his chilling demeanor, a nothing that found him unhinged from his previous hindrances and desires. He is independent of what had been previous tribulations, no further light shed on his ill intent. It was bemusement that stirred him now, tugging the corners of his lips in a vicious smile that seeped of its ruthless indignation. He came to pause before treading upon what appeared to him as a bag of bones, a tangle of scant flesh illuminated only by the galactic river they rested beneath. His brow furrowed, shriveled with the lacings of a snarl, his lips curled over rows of glistening fangs that bore no more mercy than a predator could spare. ?Pity.? pricked the corner of his scowl, before he moved altogether in abandoning her form and advancing upon the shores of the lake.