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12-24-2016, 03:07 PM
The Songbird was utterly enchanted. Her gaze hardly strayed from the tree – with its particles and artifacts floating along extended boughs and arms of the giant fir, all beautiful, all tarnished, all meaning something to someone. She could have spent hours trying to decipher the symbols, charms, and even skulls, yearning to interpret the representation of so many wondrous, enigmatic things, head in the clouds, gaze pinpointed and pulled in every direction. But she listened too, to the alluring, wondrous words of the Giving Turtle and his selfless, altruistic act, asking for nothing in return but their compassion and tenderness towards one another – to let serenity and repose remain in the air, to settle their grievances and hatred for some day in the future, not this moment, not this hour. Lena couldn’t hold contempt or loathing for any in the crowd, so the matter didn’t unsettle or rattle her – her smile remained firmly embellished and encompassing her face, as radiant and glowing as ever, gilded and raptured, an artistic stroke dipped in reverie, painted in charitable essence. She bowed her head to the reptile again, the grin never fading, winking towards Imogen as the ivory kitsune chirped in rapt agreement and song (sniffing over their newest gift tucked nearby). Her words came across in a mellifluous whisper, soft and dulcet, clinging to the laden icicles and the moving crescendos, like a dream, like a haze. “Thank you for your gifts and efforts. May we all have peace and goodwill.” And may that never fade, she added into the silence, for she cherished these hours most of all, when war wasn’t on the horizon and the night wasn’t something to be feared. her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love LENA |
