.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
08-04-2016, 05:41 PM
The inevitable frayed and glistened, tethered across her mind as the verdict played its ample predictions. She’d failed – but seemed to have done so from the very beginning, with her bright, illuminating words and her anointed phrases, perhaps too tarnished, perhaps too bold, perhaps simply too much or not enough for the maiden who didn’t lift her head towards the Mender’s honeyed eyes. The fumbling was bittersweet, left an aching spot where her valor, where her stalwart ways, had been shining and brewing, a cauldron of sweet, dulcet blossoms so eager, so fervent, so ready to unleashed into the world (vivid, illustrious hues, sprinkled and parceled in fairy convictions, like sprigs of daffodils or lilacs, touched and stroked and caressed by the elements of earth), that they could’ve been overzealous, too sugared to swallow. She’d swallow that ration of pride that wounded, barbed, and nettled her a bit, and Imogen would listen, would listlessly intertwine between layers of movement and satin, later, when they journeyed back to the land of ice and snow, wondering where she’d gone awry. For now, her kindness, her tenderness, her generosity still settled along her lips, along her features, along her heart, because she trusted Bellisma would find her methods, her motives, her passions somewhere between here and there – brandished in the glory of Ashamin’s wisdom and the guidance of his growing band. “Have a pleasant journey,” she nodded, accepting defeat just as readily as she accepted many other things in life – not the first, nor the last, extending a wink towards He’ again, granting him a fondness for being far more capable than she of leading the stranger into whatever she cherished. Maybe they’d all meet again in the future, when mercies were granted and felicitations became more than just the art of acquaintances. With that, the Songbird and her fox turned against the grain, funneled into the soil, and chimed all the more, a mellifluous, sublime melody of farewell hastened and billowing from their hooves and paws. her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love LENA |
[Sorry for the wait! D: Life ate me.]
