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forget me not.

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Hythlodaeus is calm. Patient . The gentle tug of a smile on his lips is the only thing that betrays his claim of “ no, I’m not amused ”. He sits in a form that mirrors your own in size, legs idly swaying by the edge of the bench.


The Amaurotine had only recently come to show you more of his face — a shocking revelation, truly. You’d always thought that the specters here were bound to appear in anonymity — uniform and ethereal. 


You’re rather glad that isn’t the case with him.


Hythlodaeus has a rather pretty smile, you muse. His lips look so incredibly soft, and when he really does smile, the dimples in his cheeks begin to show. That is, however, before he bashfully turns away, a spectral laugh echoing in the space between you both.


Amaurot … or whatever of it that resides so many fathoms below the cresting waves, remains as it did when Emet-Selch was still here. Its spires reach heavensward, almost threatening to break through the surface of the water. Hythlodaeus speaks of the Architect’s aspirations to go beyond the possible — to surpass the most intricate designs and how absorbed he became in his work. He whispers of a time when you were one of their trio, and the stories you’d tell of where you’d come from. 


Apparently, you hailed from a different city, but for some odd reason, Hythlodaeus struggles to remember the name. He does, however, recall a rather embarrassing thing — how when you first came to Amaurot, you were wholly enamoured with the architecture and the people, and how you loved to visit the Akadaemia. He tells you that it was there that you met both himself and Emet-Selch.


He keeps to himself however, how both of them had grown more than fond of you in such a short amount of time. It’s easier this way.


But when you shift closer, your pinky finger hooking about his, and a pleasant warmth blossoms from deep within his chest, he begins to wonder if he really is just a specter.