The melancholy sensation of night was becoming no such stranger to her anymore, the growing woman(the word alone makes her uncomfortable, thinking about how she has changed in the recent year, no longer a child) free to part as she felt on the wispy, toxic thoughts and memories of how she is becoming the very death of herself. Sunken eyes don't place themselves where the sky blue mirrors reflect all the world hands her, only the simple emotion of depression that dare claw itself upwards when there is no souls to linger about. The island had calmed greatly, no longer an epicenter of everyone's days. It had become a place she was willing to relax at, and for the cool night of Orangemoon, think as of things she shouldn't.
With a mind placed to her mother, wondering if she even cared for her honey coloured daughter anymore, Sikeax's wandering was nothing but mindless, ambling across the cherry blossom bathed ground with small bits of food tucked between her lips. A little thought tells her to eat more tonight before going back, in case it might do something to hide the appearance of her ribs against her small frame. Her stomach repeatedly pined, not from hunger by more of an ache, probably the first sign of a cold possibly gained from the day with Africa.
Shapes dot the distance, but as the light of her horn gives more notice to herself and guides her as it has always done in the past, some seem brighter. Many lay within, but as the sound of slow moving water is followed by a cacophony roar of water hurdled of the face of the earth, the moon's low, pale reflection bounces off the surface to those that stand near enough to it. An unknown shape stands close to the edge where she see nothing more than their figure.
Is someone committing suicide? The idea is not common, but never rare. If the unknown and barely seen, a solid shadow or silhouette in the black bath was to leap, she doubts she'd think twice of them. After all, it could be nothing more than an illusion.
Loneliness bothers all deep to the core as she strolls in their direction, quiet when the last songs of birds fill in the air like a hum made to be background noise. Her voice collects within her throat in a soft lump as her eyes don't harass her only company's presence. Their presence is within fifteen feet of her own, enough that they can hear one another, and that if this turns all ill, there cannot be a wound handed to her, either physical or mental.
Words simply refuse to come forth while she calls them. Simple sighs full her chest forward, and then back in. "How are you?" No name sprays from her this time, almost as if she's come to forget it.
Who is Sikeax?
It's nothing more than a question she'll never answer on her own.

OOC: Hope you don't mind me. I love Roland to pieces and couldn't resist.

@[Roland]

Soft night air grows hard, thickening as she listens as her words tumble from her lips and the stranger's own creations to do the same. No bad feeling taunts her when she almost losses his voice, the rough masculine tone that she'll never hold with her feminine features. Their questions are simple, except for the last. Confusion clouds above her almost instantly, blue eyes turn to see exactly who he is. No name sprays with his questions, and neither voice nor appearance fall into place.
The answer to both are no, but she's not the kind to reply simple ways. Mother taught her different because it makes you look better, or is that because motherwas nothing more than narcissistic and on a mission set to destroy her?
"I don't know."
Her gaze no longer meets his, hoping no follow-ups rise when she speaks that simple sentence. If she'd been well, then she would of been somewhere asleep, or in the northern lands admiring what she'd lost, and welcoming the freezing breath of Frostfall was shivering because living in a desert made growing winter coats difficult. Her coat hadn't figured out how to accept it at first, the thin layer that grew now nothing more than a wool blanket in a burning room.
"Should I know you?" Was I a monster to you like I was to Sacre?
Once being so willing to speak to new company, she wanted nothing more to throw herself off the island and hope she lands in the waters below, either dying upon impact or drowning. That's not a good idea for first meetings, and her depression is restrained by the need to not appear crazy. A sneeze flies from her, more signs of her growing sickness brought up by the changing of seasons, ending with a loud snort.

@[Roland]

The distance between them is spared, one she's happy is kept. He seems so polite while the girl is seemingly cold and distant. Her ribs ache in the inside from her sickness, and the sneeze brings no relief. Infecting another with a cold that was gained in stupidity and could of been avoided is an ugly mark much like the disease she once harboured and still remains oblivious in the terms that she doesn't know what it was, and what happened. The words of loved ones only go a certain length, and she's untrusting of almost all words. Stranger barely offers her a sense of comfort in the same form Lace had given.
"I don't remember you. Then again, I don't remember a lot of people and a lot of horrible things that I've done." A monotone voice whispers into their shared space. Pale shades can't rise up to meet the man she speaks to. Internally, she deems herself a coward in fear it's someone she really does care about who she wounded in the period of lost memories. "Did I hurt you as well?" The question is fairly harsh in itself on the extent that she speaks it knowingfull well the answer could be yes.
Small ears drift in his general direction to listen silently. He tells her what she fears, knowing that it increases the bitter answer of her question. Her heavy head lowers more when the coil in her stomach tightens more. A pair of lips go numb faster than before.
Same old, same old.
"That's what they always say, but they never say what it was." Her morbid outtake on the night increases, depression darkens past the deepest shade of gloomy gray, unable to reach true black.
The subject quickly changes on her. Through her surprise that it has gone to a less melancholy tone, one that pulls away her shame because her head rises up, illuminated by the faint glow of her horn. Shallow eyes watch him with simplicity and emptiness.
She lacks an answer that she wants to speak. Yes, she's sick, but she's not ready to admit. No one was kind enough to even question it. Somehow, a thin smile brushes her features for mere seconds before it goes away. "It's nothing you should worry about, but thank you for asking."

OOC: OMG I'M SORRY FOR THE WAIT.
I've been meaning to reply for so long but have been so busy as of recently and haven't gotten to it. xc
@[Roland]

At that, her smile, weak and tired though trying, returns to her features. A single tear could slide down from her pale eyes, but the total times she's found herself weeping and drowning within tears of misery, sorrow, and regret have made for a lack of tears. If she's used them all up before she's even old enough to know true misery, then how would she even stand the future?
She let's her thoughts fade away she turns off, only reawakened by the soft caress of her stranger's voice in her ears. They swivel to meet him with a slow approach, careful in how she feels like trusting a stranger who has been more kind than most of her friends. Its tragic, awfully tragic.
Eventually giving in by the turn of her skull, she almost feels herself try to laugh at his facial expression, in how he melts the cold away. The happiness pitched within her features begins to strain under the uncommon use. Throwing stones sounds like child's play, but then again, she hasn't been a child in what feels like decades.
She accepts by finally pulling the ache out of joints that had locked up within her pillars, walking at a slow pace with sunken eyes, a sniffle here and there, and relaxed ears. Her smile fades into simplicity illuminated by the blue glow of her horn. A halt is given with two feet to a yard from him to keep from invasion.
It is then that she is asked the thing that is usually out at the first sight of one another. Their change of situation is welcomed greatly, appreciative of how her privacy couldn't be forcibly ripped from nervous, shaking hands. "Sikeax, but my friends always call me Sia."
Simple, sweet, unique, and lady-like, different from the rest because that's how her mother would of liked it to be, from how the names in her bloodline must be odd for a mother with such a name to give her daughter something as equally unique and special, never repeated over in centuries to come.
What kind of name would be Sikeax, if anything?
It passes her mind that it might be time for introductions, therefore what trust she feels she could barely place within him isn't foreign. You could trust a serial killer without knowing their name and never know you did.
"What about you?" She asks calmly, lowering her head to search the floor for a stone, brushing against it til she finds one enough to cradle in her lips. The toss is delayed once she's found the right one, coming back to up to Stranger in order to capture his name correctly.
@[Roland]