(layering is customary to the chimer, but in this fashion, it's new and curious because of it. there are so many buttons and knick-knacks stowed within small places that it seems a marvel the man's able to move at all. why would anyone prefer zenith when it's so clear that the restoration of worlds and their cultures adds colour to the universe?

not that voryn damn well cares. their planets can be consumed, their cultures can be digested—his must avoid the gnashing teeth of oblivion or be regurgitated the way that it was.

bold hands fall over sebastian's shoulder, front and back. there is no hesitation in the action, unafraid of touch—least of all when it seems encouraged.) You tell me things I am very fond of hearing. It is not as suspect as I initially thought; do you like my attention? (rhetorical food for thought as two spells are cast back-to-back.

the nature of his magic has changed, a private thing that voryn noticed after harmonizing. some of it is restricted, but before he even climbed out of the soil beneath the great tree, something was amiss. it spreads in him like a toxin, corrupting energy in its path. this is why it almost stings to have light gather beneath his palms for speed fortification and strong resistance to frost, chapped skin being pulled taught, an itch being pleasantly scratched until the point where nails break the skin.)

I'll lift you out should I spy you struggling near the surface.