A Christmas Romance (Closed; Ezel)

Eyes as blue as sapphires, and just as cold as the gem didn't falter from the garden of distressed statues. They traced every Greek and Roman idol, and the seemed to switch targets with every passing second - as if to count the seconds of a clock. Ezel was seated with every bit of eloquence as usual, his ashen cape still draping towards the floor, pinned across his chest by the same alabaster idol. His clothing was as immaculate as always, though for the sake of circumstance, the ivory garbs he usually donned were replaced by a set of jet clothing for traditional purposes. Between icy fingers was a letter - one that was memorized to every punctuation, but still held in his grasp - a symbol of confusion.

When his guest arrived, her knocks boomed through the empty halls, and he knew she had arrived long before they would actually catch sight of one another. As the echoes of her escort became nearer, their duty to guide her to him, he motioned to a nearby table, a marble dining table that spanned twenty feet. It remained bare aside from small candles that divided the table up into fourths. As he faced the double doors, Ezel would have a perfect sight to watching them being pushed up to reveal the Quincy.

Phoebe came prepared for such an event, fitting any expected image perfectly. A finely crafted dress was worn to compliment her lithe frame, and she seemed to genuinely care about her appearance for such a meeting. The servants led her to the seat on the other end of him, and they would leave the two to keep each other company in an empty chamber - the only other faces being those of the petrified men and women that were twenty meters away in the garden.

A fragment of silence befell them, the last cries of the closing doors fleeting away, and when they subsided, he finally spoke, "Welcome back, young Quincy." It was a poor introduction, but even a wise being such as himself was unsure of how to approach such a situation.

The empty table was obvious to him, and after a moment, he felt inclined to speak on the matter. "I... apologize for the ill-preparation, I'm not exactly sure on how to respond in such a situation, he noted with the same complacent face, although the embarrassment of the Espada was clear. He was never one to find himself in a position such as this, and it was clear it was a road not yet traversed. He awaited her response, and though it might have only been seconds, it felt like hours to the blonde.

Ezel's guest seemed to enjoy his company, and even spoke of his own garments, and continued with her playful quips with him. It set him at ease to find she wasn't offended with his lack of action, though one wouldn't be able to notice it behind such a stone gaze. It was a gift and a curse, able to detach the feelings that once made him mortal, but it oft left him with his arms stretching and scraping after the humanity that had long been gone.

When mentioned cooks, it occurred to him how different they were. The empty hole that lay over his upper right chest was enough to remind him of how food wasn't a necessity. Thankfully the grotesque indication of a hollow was disguised by the fine fabric over his body. He would instead opt to explain the situation, "Ah cooks... Unfortunately no. We lost our necessity of human foods, and instead consume the weaker hollow. It's something much too unfitting for a lady such as yourself..." It was a low drone, and he felt ashamed to admit to such barbarism.

For a moment Ezel seemed at a loss, feeling the guilt of being a terrible host. It was during this shadow of shame where a part of his passed arrived to provide salvation for an embarrassing situation. "I... perhaps have an alternative. It would be a much better way to showcase your beauty- if it is okay with you? Ezel proposed, his compliment being robotic and almost as if he were defining art rather than whispering sweet words to a woman.

The Espada rose and extended a hand as if to invite her over to him, hoping she would oblige.

The blonde would raise a brow at her last words, as they were unclear from how she spoke them; as if he were not the target. But still she took his hand, and with his free left, he swiped upward with a small flick of his wrist. The space before them rippled and tore open, revealing an abyss, glamoured by rough and undulating light. And with a confident step, he'd lead her through.

It was but a fraction of a second that there were in darkness, as immediately Ezel stepped out into a place where a brisk and chilly air would sting exposed skin. A light parade of snowflakes danced past their bodies, and his foot met the platform of an illuminated beacon. Below them a hundred feet was a vast city inflamed by the street and building lights. A town rich with architecture glowed vibrant and noise was frequent, even from the perch they stood. "Perhaps you have been here, or at least witnessed its magnificence over postcards. Paris, France, mademoiselle" he introduced, with his native tongue becoming clear.

It was late December in his homeland, and just as any European nation, the decor of Christmas was aplenty, and even when being two hours before midnight, the life of Paris was nothing short of magnificent. And maybe she had been here before, but they stood at the very tip of the grand Eiffel tower, meters above where visitors were allowed. Their footing was supported only be a small box of land that marked its top. Snow wasn't planned, but it very much completed the picture he had hoped for - hopefully she found it as captivating as he did.