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Her normally vibrant pelt and abnormal but still elaborately lavish costume were coated by a dusty and cryptic half shadow, the whispers of the stalks that she had gently made it through now menacing in the chill moonlight as they shuddered about her halted frame. She was lost, but not willing to admit it yet; the still as whole half of her indigo and gold adorned scarf sang out gently as she turned her raised head about vainly to see a way out or from where she had come. Settling on a direction to her right (truly south) the corsetted gypsy made a few steps forward, but hesitated; the wolves she'd heard earlier had sounded again, from a nearer distance - and dead ahead of her angle.
Unknowingly taking a turn to the north, she headed away from the sound, cursing her jingling costume with each step; nearly every edge of the damn thing and herself was rimmed in bells, from her hooves to the frivolous ends of her patterned scarf, and they were hard to silence in such close quarters as the already dry and noisy husks under hoof.
Still, if they ate her, she'd look fabulous - albeit dusty - while dragging a few to hell with her.
The racing of her heart drew her focus about to the swish of the loose silk across her chest, torn open from the stalks in her corn field venture; the snug fit of the corset like piece comforting in a way that constricting items sometimes were, occasionally the sound of a severed bell tinkling to the dirt at her hooves to lessen her austentaciously noisy steps. Over many minutes that felt like hours, it seemed the corn had begun to thin - to what end, she could not know until it was too late to turn back.
[ still in her gypsy costume and heading north; I hate tablets, also. Tried to modify ten times last night before I gave up :| ]
Unknowingly taking a turn to the north, she headed away from the sound, cursing her jingling costume with each step; nearly every edge of the damn thing and herself was rimmed in bells, from her hooves to the frivolous ends of her patterned scarf, and they were hard to silence in such close quarters as the already dry and noisy husks under hoof.
Still, if they ate her, she'd look fabulous - albeit dusty - while dragging a few to hell with her.
The racing of her heart drew her focus about to the swish of the loose silk across her chest, torn open from the stalks in her corn field venture; the snug fit of the corset like piece comforting in a way that constricting items sometimes were, occasionally the sound of a severed bell tinkling to the dirt at her hooves to lessen her austentaciously noisy steps. Over many minutes that felt like hours, it seemed the corn had begun to thin - to what end, she could not know until it was too late to turn back.
[ still in her gypsy costume and heading north; I hate tablets, also. Tried to modify ten times last night before I gave up :| ]
