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Summary
Orange and red and yellow and brown. The colors of fall- of the leaves whose lives were coming to an end- seemed to mock him as they framed the portrait of the heavens above. They looked the most beautiful in their twilight years- or twilight months, since they were only leaves. The quiet resignation that they had, living and dying at the whims of the sun and its proximity to the earth- the way that they looked the most beautiful at the most tragic point of their lives, the way that their beauty was as fleeting as the wind that snatched them up off of the twigs they lived on- it was awfully poetic to Asriel. It would’ve been awfully poetic to her.
A Dessriel fic that switches between post-canon and pre-canon storytelling, with the causes contextualizing the effects.