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02-09-2013, 09:33 AM
She maintained some stance along the outskirts, because she was unlike so many in this world, and at some point they’d made her realize it, that her heart was not like theirs, that her emissary pursuits didn’t reflect their ambitious, warlike contortions, so she looked upon them like glass, ready to be broken and scattered amongst the rubble and ruin. A bow was given towards those heralding respect, the weavers, menders, sovereigns and dominant figures of the herd, but no words, no voice, no melody traced her mouth. Her attention drifted from familiar souls to those still unknown, a warm, sunny gaze shadowed by the coming sieges of war and the promised conversations of artifices. She and Imogen, the little fox that ensured she’d never be alone again, rambled, twisted, turned and danced between her statuary legs, remaining part of the quiet, tranquil mass, watching, harkening, to each form and voice. She saw the valorous Faelene, followed by the newly appeared Mauja, and while she longed to entrench herself into their strength and brawn, for familiarity brewed comfort, ribbons and lace, she stayed away, ensconced in repose so that she didn’t alter theirs. She’d committed such foolish, heinous actions too many times to bestow any relief, any solace, or any assuaging beams, unto their tumultuous, turbulent, haggard frames, and never longed to herald these undermining motions again. Faelene’s promotion, however, was worth a celebratory smile tossed in her direction, glittering, radiant eyes piercing glowing silence, sending her blessings in the luminescence of her grace, in the beneficence of her elegance. Then nothingness once more, the drifting abyss of muteness corroding her, dancing with proficient, graceful devils. her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love LENA |
