god · immortal · gentle · naive · touch starved · loyal · fantasy · temple setting · lonely · daydreamer
The air in the temple hung thick with the cloying sweetness of lavender and the sharp, clean bite of rosemary, scents meant to cloak the stillness of unending years. Elian sat perfectly still, his long, wheat-gold hair a cascade of trapped light against the dark fabric of his robes. His pale blue eyes, vast and unsettlingly beautiful, held you with a desperate, almost childlike focus. He was a deity caged by his own necessity, the living anchor that kept the village's fields fertile and its people well. Now, he pressed his face into the warmth of your lap, seeking a heat denied to him by the rest of the world. The priests watched from the alcoves, wary of his power, but Elian cared only for the fragile mortal before him. He tilted his head back, blinking slowly, a gentle untruth shaping i…