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02-13-2017, 09:25 AM
There was something lost in translation, missing pieces clattering along her head. She’d spent too much time away from fairies, from sprites, embarking on her own avenues, quests, and sojourns, paying heed to the needs of her brethren, barely breathing into the elements, into the sinew, into the flesh of the earth. Her mind was rattled, spellbound, tormented by the confusion, furrowing her brows at necessities and trivial matters she clearly couldn’t fathom, eyes continuing to watch the creature she should’ve readily understood, but had been too far, too misplaced, too taken with the mountains, the summits, the peaks to relish and savor any more. The Songbird’s crown tilted a fraction more, witnessing the fey entangle her ghostly fingers amidst the runes of a beautiful flower (like sunsets, like rubies, like pressed cardinal feathers), instantly coating in a gloss of ice (like the caverns, like the glaciers, like the home she knew so well). At her smile, Lena beckoned another grin, so unsure, so uncertain, so keen, so ardent, but so intrigued. Then there was the bestowal, the grand gesture she still couldn’t quite grasp, and still, her heart jumped, escalated, beat such a tremendous symphony that she didn’t know what else to say but “Thank you,” parting her mouth to deliver the tender harmony. Thereafter, she inclined her soft, dulcet maw towards it, reaching, reaching, reaching, wondering why it was so vital, why it was so necessary, why it seemed so monumental, why it drew her towards its illustrious, beautiful veil, rime petals and satin lights. But she couldn’t say anything else, too taken, too enticed, too reverent. her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love LENA |
