I stand alone, somewhere along the shoreline, with my back towards the heart of the Dragon’s Throat as I stare forward. Several feet from my cloven toes, the ocean waves beat their steady rhythm, rolling in like frothy billows along the soft, crimson sands. There’s not much that I can see of Helovia’s mainland from here. One of spring’s showers has arrived, drizzling in a slow but constant stream from the pregnant clouds overhead, and creating a mist along the vast sea waters—the rest of Helovia is reduced to a blurry outline of jagged horizons, seemingly so far away.

I manage a sigh, the slope of my shoulders heaving and my mid-section flexing as I force all the air from my lungs, pushing myself until a weight suddenly builds in my chest, instinct demanding oxygen for my lungs. Only then do I allow myself to inhale—slowly, deliberately—and I count the seconds as they pass. One, two, three, four, five. And repeat.

I’m not sure how much time has passed, or how long I have been standing here already—or even how long it’s been raining. All I know is by now my hair is slick with water, tightly outlining the curves of my neck and shoulder before the soused curtain falls in a crumpled heap upon the sodden ground, and the pattern of my coat is decidedly darker than its usual toffee browns. Perhaps, were I from the inland forests or highland mountains, I would be comfortable in this pleasant shower that is neither particularly cold nor warm. However, having grown up among the scorching Dorobian sands, and having the blood of hot-headed beasts running through my veins, I’m actually shivering.

(Is it really from the rain?)

Closing my eyes, I tilt my head back, exposing my face to the water as my long forelock slips back over my cheek. Wanting to escape the festering wounds and haunting chaos of my own mind—if even for a moment—I try to absorb myself in the rain. I feel it patter across my skin, I feel it stick to my eyelashes, I feel it trickle through my hair and dampen my scalp, and I feel how the little droplets reach for every part of me. Nothing is spared. And yet...as I stand there along the shoreline, alone and enraptured by spring’s sweet shower, I can only be grateful that it hides the tears.



“Speech.”
Attack: 0/3
WC: 400
Setting: On the shoreline of the Dragon’s Throat; the ground is flat, with very little shrubbery around. In Birdsong, and there’s a nice little spring shower of misty rain that has made everything fairly wet already. The exact time of day is indiscernible (you’re welcome to make it more specific as you’d like), although it’s not difficult to see, aside from the rain.
OOC: For little @Pippigrin !! Come kick her booty xD

I pirouette in the dark

Tired mechanical heart—Beats til the song disappears