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02-17-2015, 04:18 PM
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Isopia The devil is not as black as he is painted. As her grammar was corrected the girl merely shrugged. We were all just its when you got right down to it. Just assortments of atoms bound together by inexplicable laws. Any value or merit that came with being a she or a he was arbitrary. It was the mortals who imbued the world with value for they could not see the beauty that it already held, and so in their clumsiness they forced - no, smeared - the world with colours they could see, so that they could pat themselves on the back for their accomplishments. The boy didn't answer her question, and instead replied with one of his own. The girl was learning that often those around her did that when they couldn't find the right words or answers to what she wanted to know. She deemed it a defensive response, a way of shifting ignorance away from themselves. Still, the considers his question only for a moment, but just as thoughtfully as if she had stayed silent for days. She already knew the answer. It was one she had long contemplated. "I have not yet named myself." She responded confidently, her golden eyes fixating upon the boy with interest. Vaguely she wondered why he kept flicking his tail, indeed why he kept moving so much. She, on the other hand, remained so still that her body had begun to meld into her environment. The roots of the tree closest to her had begun to wrap around hooves that now appeared no different from the dirt upon which she stood, as if the forest meant to suck her into itself. "Names are important." She continued, unburdened by the effects of her magic. "Which is why I have not given myself one yet." The girl new very vaguely that this was odd - others around her seemed to give her the impression that it was not up to the child to baptize themselves with a title, even if they asked nicely. Still, the girl didn't care. She did not trust Kahlua to label her something appropriate, and so until she found something suitable, she would remain nameless. |
