HowlingWoods
"And she heaved the forest upon her back"
JUNIPER FEAL
Male|22 Years|Demon|Non-Elemental
A lonely melody drifted down the hall, the faint sound seeming almost like a siren's call to anyone passing by. But there wasn't supposed to be anyone passing by; the entire left wing of the Feal estate was kept locked, and only select members of the Feal family and trusted servants had the key. The slaves of the Feal family were instructed to stay far away from the left wing. Most obeyed. The ones who didn't were discouraged by the locked door. But today the door wasn't locked. A cook had delivered food to the left wing and left the door unlocked by accident. And so any daring explorers would stumble upon this door and hear the siren's song within.
However, Juniper, or Junn as he often referred to himself, had no knowledge of the cook's mishap, or of the possibility of someone listening in to his melody. His fingers merely flew across the keys, caught up in the rhythm of his song. He was absorbed, focused on this moment. The grand piano he sat in front of was merely an instrument with which to channel his mastery of music. And although he'd had no teacher, he played from the heart. And his heart was a lonely one.
He sat within an extensive library, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lining every wall. The room was charitably large, and in it's center was a mahogany coffee table, around which sat various seating arrangements. The couch and matching living chair were a royal blue, upholstered with dyed wool fabric. A rocking chair matching the table also stood around it, and on the coffee table a single white lily resided in a vase, although on closer examination one would realize it was fake. The bookshelves held no shortage of books, each meticulously organized by genre, and then by the author's last name. There must have been hundreds. A stool rested somewhere near the door, likely used to reach the books on the higher shelves. The shelves were dusted regularly, although the rest of the library seemed to suffer somewhat from a build-up, but it was only a few weeks worth at most. A chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling, casting a warm glow over the room.
And off to the side, a mahogany piano was kept in perfect condition, where Junn now sat, tickling the ivories with slender fingers. His eyes were closed, so caught up in the music he would not have noticed an intruder to his privacy. He had no sheet music before him, but the song was as elegant as it was sad. An eye patch covered his right eye, but a fading scar from a very old burn still peeked out from underneath it, visible when his hair moved and shifted as he swayed with the song. His hair itself was rich in color, a dark chocolate that was nearing black, and cut in a layered style. It was parted on the left and combed over to cover the scar of his right eye where his eye patch did not. The cut was longer in the back, reaching midway down his neck before tapering off. He wore a pair of black dress pants and button-up white shirt, the sleeved rolled up neatly to just below his elbows. The top button of his shirt was undone, exposing his collarbone and a peek at more burn scars on his chest. His skin was fair and, aside from the scars, free of blemishes. He was well-built, in a way that indicated he exercised to keep himself healthy rather than to build up strength. His shoulders were broad, and he was of a decent height, although it was difficult to tell from his position sitting before the piano exactly how tall he was.
His fingers stilled over the keys, his song finished. And he opened his good eye at last, revealing it's brilliant golden color. However, deep within his eyes was a shimmering light, like a far-off star in the night sky. He rested his hands in his lap, seemingly overcome with an emotion that he did not outwardly express other than by tilting his head back and staring at the chandelier, a longing look in his eye. It was then that he seemed to notice the presence of someone else in the room, and he stiffened, turning around on his stool, his gaze sweeping over the room until it rested on the beast-born slave standing before him. His voice, when he spoke, was smooth and sweet, like a spoonful of honey. There was no anger in his tone, just a sort of calm resignation. "You're not supposed to be in here." He said softly, his voice barely a whisper, yet it carried across the still silence of the room. Anything louder would seem almost to break the reverence which the room seemed to command.
However, Juniper, or Junn as he often referred to himself, had no knowledge of the cook's mishap, or of the possibility of someone listening in to his melody. His fingers merely flew across the keys, caught up in the rhythm of his song. He was absorbed, focused on this moment. The grand piano he sat in front of was merely an instrument with which to channel his mastery of music. And although he'd had no teacher, he played from the heart. And his heart was a lonely one.
He sat within an extensive library, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lining every wall. The room was charitably large, and in it's center was a mahogany coffee table, around which sat various seating arrangements. The couch and matching living chair were a royal blue, upholstered with dyed wool fabric. A rocking chair matching the table also stood around it, and on the coffee table a single white lily resided in a vase, although on closer examination one would realize it was fake. The bookshelves held no shortage of books, each meticulously organized by genre, and then by the author's last name. There must have been hundreds. A stool rested somewhere near the door, likely used to reach the books on the higher shelves. The shelves were dusted regularly, although the rest of the library seemed to suffer somewhat from a build-up, but it was only a few weeks worth at most. A chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling, casting a warm glow over the room.
And off to the side, a mahogany piano was kept in perfect condition, where Junn now sat, tickling the ivories with slender fingers. His eyes were closed, so caught up in the music he would not have noticed an intruder to his privacy. He had no sheet music before him, but the song was as elegant as it was sad. An eye patch covered his right eye, but a fading scar from a very old burn still peeked out from underneath it, visible when his hair moved and shifted as he swayed with the song. His hair itself was rich in color, a dark chocolate that was nearing black, and cut in a layered style. It was parted on the left and combed over to cover the scar of his right eye where his eye patch did not. The cut was longer in the back, reaching midway down his neck before tapering off. He wore a pair of black dress pants and button-up white shirt, the sleeved rolled up neatly to just below his elbows. The top button of his shirt was undone, exposing his collarbone and a peek at more burn scars on his chest. His skin was fair and, aside from the scars, free of blemishes. He was well-built, in a way that indicated he exercised to keep himself healthy rather than to build up strength. His shoulders were broad, and he was of a decent height, although it was difficult to tell from his position sitting before the piano exactly how tall he was.
His fingers stilled over the keys, his song finished. And he opened his good eye at last, revealing it's brilliant golden color. However, deep within his eyes was a shimmering light, like a far-off star in the night sky. He rested his hands in his lap, seemingly overcome with an emotion that he did not outwardly express other than by tilting his head back and staring at the chandelier, a longing look in his eye. It was then that he seemed to notice the presence of someone else in the room, and he stiffened, turning around on his stool, his gaze sweeping over the room until it rested on the beast-born slave standing before him. His voice, when he spoke, was smooth and sweet, like a spoonful of honey. There was no anger in his tone, just a sort of calm resignation. "You're not supposed to be in here." He said softly, his voice barely a whisper, yet it carried across the still silence of the room. Anything louder would seem almost to break the reverence which the room seemed to command.
coded by natasha.
Last edited:
