Event

One by one, the strangers who have come tell the lights what they see – except for one, and another, who remains silent, though he approaches the water to look. Bobbing curiously for a moment and twittering amongst themselves about just what power he thought they had, the lights quickly return to their erratic zooming from one being to another.

The sugary stallion that had loitered on the outskirts of the occurrence with an older unicorn mare is the first to speak, his cheerful voice making the sparkling creatures flutter all the more wildly in delight. A manatee with a top hat! They squeal with laughter and twirl about madly, thrilled with such an imaginative image. Their giggling halts, however, when the mare who’d first spoken to them answers next.

"What’s sad about a puffin?" audibly whispers one or two of the lights to the others, who make up for the lack of tact in their comrades by humming sounds of comfort quite loudly as they flutter about her for another moment.

It’s no wonder they all quickly move on to Syrena, liking stories much more than melancholy. As she tells of her magical waves, the lights zoom out over the water for a closer inspection, the trails of their iridescent dust likely obliterating the image. Still, they act like they saw it well enough, with childish oohs and awes.

The two dark brothers, whom their large, white faced father had rescinded from the game for, come next; their ideas, like their somehow frightful appearances, make the lights uneasy. They are creatures of joy and happiness, and the thought of skulls, even fancy ones with crowns or those drizzled with gold, made them visibly shudder in the air alongside the child story tellers. For these tales, there is no delighted laughter or twirling, merely a sullen movement onto the next in line.

She has a wolf, which the lights seem to take a more immediate interest in, likely showering the poor beast in a deluge of sparkles. Still, her story strikes the beings as a good one, and the pretty collective of shining orbs each zoom by her face, letting their warm, tingly lights kiss along her face where it is white, white like her wolf.

The next girl to speak is white, too, with a horrible limp that she proudly tries to hide as she approaches the water. The glitter streaming baubles are glad that the water pictures have proven to be a delight to her, as well, and giggle cheerfully as they imagine butterflies dancing in the stars. "We see it too!" trill a collective of them, the rest bobbing in agreement (though they really only thought they had seen it at all).

The silent boy is of great interest to the lights, which are more empathetic than many beings. A deep, dark shadow lies in the heart of the little one, obvious in his refusal to speak (though he is obviously old enough to), and it makes them ache to see his bent spine, as it made them hurt to see Erthë’s limping. Sorry that their game could not ease the tightly bound knot of whatever hurt lies in the heart of the child, they are at least pleased to see he plays, in his own way, and cheerfully hum about his ears before moving onto the last.

She is also the oldest, the lights notice. The image she sees is serene, and peaceful, and the lights approve of the thought with an arcing swirl about her, reaching upwards and inwards, like an upside down tornado over her. The result is a cascade of glittering, gold, bronze, and emerald sparkles that bathe whatever is beneath them in a layer of shine. "Like mountains in the morning!" they laugh, the musical sound of it filling the clearing.

Thanking everyone quite wildly for their tales, the lights speak in a discordance that is somehow harmonious, some shouting at all the horses at once, while others take the time to approach individuals and whisper gratitude, or farewell. It’s not long before the baubles zoom off down the river, as if they are chasing all the glitter they’ve sent winding down its shallow banks, the sound of their wild laughter trailing after them. Only their shining, dusty refuse remains, literally everywhere but in the smallest of crannies or directly underneath the Helovians who have gathered.

Slowly at first, but gathering momentum, the dust flashes silver along the edges, vanishing in an inward race (though the glitter on those gathered seems to remain). It all seems to be pooling towards one of the individuals gathered. As the silver, ripping ring at last meets with the bay mare, the dust covering Essetia bursts into golden light. Warm, and bright, the radiance lasts for a few seconds. Throughout the clearing, the sound of playful laughter sounds, as if the lights hadn’t just rounded a far bend of the river, and out of sight.

Congratulations Essetia!
Everyone one else who got “dusted” may be sparkly for a few IC days!
Roll

pure randomness