.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
12-07-2015, 06:46 PM
 (Set in the Glowing Room)
Cleft hooves tread deftly on moss and stone, careful to avoid the little glowing flowers and delicate white-cap mushrooms which littered the soft dark carpet. She knows this place well; years ago when the night had vanquished day, and all of Helovia was ruled by starlight, Lothíriel had spent countless hours in this very place, counting the glowing flora like the stars she missed. She isn't entirely sure of why she had come here, this strange place, but she resolves to stay—at least for a while, for the distant sound of falling water brings her peace, and the grass is soft and lush. Thingol weaves through the vines slung from the stone ceiling above, his feathers silent as they pass through the cool subterranean air. He remembers this place too, although he was merely a chick then, and the little luminescent pin-pricks seem more a dream than memory. As she leans down to lip absently at the tender grass, it strikes her how quickly time passes; this world is a fickle place, as apt to proffer the greatest of riches as it is to purloin them back. Faces come and go, names flicker in and out of consciousness, and what is one left with? Even the great kings of the past will be forgotten by mere mortals, their names eroded from the annals of time. She thinks of the few she truly cares for—stoic Father, thoughtful Mother, effervescent Erebos, and she wonders how long it will take until they too are forgotten. The white raven offers the brooding girl a conciliatory croak from somewhere in the distance. Unease creases her crowned forehead. "How long will it be until they forget us, Greycloak?" Lothíriel wonders aloud, startled by the echo her soft words elicit. How long.. how long.. how long.. the cavern mocks, leaving a thick silence once it quiets. The roan girl shudders—what must she do to be remembered? & when she walks, her footsteps sing a reckless serenade. |
idk have an emo loth
@Tilney
