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11-11-2014, 10:44 PM
It was raining. Why does it always rain in the Rotunda? Last time she was here, a few horrific things happened. There was brief imprisonment, brutality, words, and a rose bush grown with magic by an angry crafter called Lace. Would it all happen again? The rain ran down her flanks, darkening her fur wherever the cool liquid hit. Her hair became straight under the added weight of the drops. Her muzzle was especially pink today. Her eyes gleamed with knowledge. It was the glow of the Storyteller. Sure, it's not an actual thing, but knowing she is a storyteller makes her happy. Can't that be enough?
She enters the Rotunda, a swirl of gold and flax. There is the slight clatter of hoof on stone before silence becomes the new ruler. Then, Drom notices that she has company. She shuffles towards a less crowded part of the Rotunda, but three is a crowd and she toys with the idea of leaving, but ultimately decides to stay. The myriad of colors that dance on her pelt and stone are grand, though dull to the others, they are vibrant to her. This is a world of white and grey, a splash of color could do no harm.
There is a stallion and a mare. The stallion is grey, the mare is brown. She is golden, yet she is humble. She wouldn't flaunt herself around. Actually, she does the opposite and says no to everyone. The black stallion, Morir, despite fighting for her (and his own dignity) and winning, got turned down. A few others had tried, but the got no's. It's not that she is extremely off-limits, but it's weird, actually. In a world of hate, the gold rabbit believes in true love and will wait to find it, no matter how long it takes. "I am Drom," she said her name simply, no fancy o's. Many helovians would end up calling her Drum if she attempted to say it the way it was supposed to be said. Her thick Swedish accent would be enough of a surprise, no need for the extra frilly o's.
She enters the Rotunda, a swirl of gold and flax. There is the slight clatter of hoof on stone before silence becomes the new ruler. Then, Drom notices that she has company. She shuffles towards a less crowded part of the Rotunda, but three is a crowd and she toys with the idea of leaving, but ultimately decides to stay. The myriad of colors that dance on her pelt and stone are grand, though dull to the others, they are vibrant to her. This is a world of white and grey, a splash of color could do no harm.
There is a stallion and a mare. The stallion is grey, the mare is brown. She is golden, yet she is humble. She wouldn't flaunt herself around. Actually, she does the opposite and says no to everyone. The black stallion, Morir, despite fighting for her (and his own dignity) and winning, got turned down. A few others had tried, but the got no's. It's not that she is extremely off-limits, but it's weird, actually. In a world of hate, the gold rabbit believes in true love and will wait to find it, no matter how long it takes. "I am Drom," she said her name simply, no fancy o's. Many helovians would end up calling her Drum if she attempted to say it the way it was supposed to be said. Her thick Swedish accent would be enough of a surprise, no need for the extra frilly o's.
![[Image: 53d6f2ea9010d]](http://images.helovia.net/index.php/photo/action/view_image/photo_link/53d6f2ea9010d)
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