The melancholy sensation of night was becoming no such stranger to her anymore, the growing woman(the word alone makes her uncomfortable, thinking about how she has changed in the recent year, no longer a child) free to part as she felt on the wispy, toxic thoughts and memories of how she is becoming the very death of herself. Sunken eyes don't place themselves where the sky blue mirrors reflect all the world hands her, only the simple emotion of depression that dare claw itself upwards when there is no souls to linger about. The island had calmed greatly, no longer an epicenter of everyone's days. It had become a place she was willing to relax at, and for the cool night of Orangemoon, think as of things she shouldn't.
With a mind placed to her mother, wondering if she even cared for her honey coloured daughter anymore, Sikeax's wandering was nothing but mindless, ambling across the cherry blossom bathed ground with small bits of food tucked between her lips. A little thought tells her to eat more tonight before going back, in case it might do something to hide the appearance of her ribs against her small frame. Her stomach repeatedly pined, not from hunger by more of an ache, probably the first sign of a cold possibly gained from the day with Africa.
Shapes dot the distance, but as the light of her horn gives more notice to herself and guides her as it has always done in the past, some seem brighter. Many lay within, but as the sound of slow moving water is followed by a cacophony roar of water hurdled of the face of the earth, the moon's low, pale reflection bounces off the surface to those that stand near enough to it. An unknown shape stands close to the edge where she see nothing more than their figure.
Is someone committing suicide? The idea is not common, but never rare. If the unknown and barely seen, a solid shadow or silhouette in the black bath was to leap, she doubts she'd think twice of them. After all, it could be nothing more than an illusion.
Loneliness bothers all deep to the core as she strolls in their direction, quiet when the last songs of birds fill in the air like a hum made to be background noise. Her voice collects within her throat in a soft lump as her eyes don't harass her only company's presence. Their presence is within fifteen feet of her own, enough that they can hear one another, and that if this turns all ill, there cannot be a wound handed to her, either physical or mental.
Words simply refuse to come forth while she calls them. Simple sighs full her chest forward, and then back in. "How are you?" No name sprays from her this time, almost as if she's come to forget it.
Who is Sikeax?
It's nothing more than a question she'll never answer on her own.

OOC: Hope you don't mind me. I love Roland to pieces and couldn't resist.

@[Roland]