through every collapse and creation,
there is a pulse that echoes of you and I.
As she watches her father (he might not like to be called father, but she does it anyway) fly away with her brother clutched in his talons, a hint of sadness fills the pale blue of her eyes. She is not like her father or brother. Not even like her mother. In their eyes, she is so very plain and boring. Plain and boring are so easy to overlook in her family.
But then, they didn't know she has taken after her mother in more ways than one. She has never told them, never shown them. She has no need to. She is perfectly content in her quiet obscurity.
Or at least, she was. When she hadn't been alone.
But instead of wallowing in any such sadness, she follows. She would make her own happiness. For a time, she thought she had lost them. Thought she had become lost (though, in truth, she never had been. Mother had been there, showing her the way. She should have known she would be), but she finds her way. She finds the playground, and she finds her brother.
In so many ways, she is very different from her family. There is a softness, a brightness in her that has been hammered from her parents. Perhaps it had never existed in them. She is a delicate wisp of a girl, the dusky blue of her coat threaded with chains if white, the pale blue of her eyes quiet and softly unassuming. There is a certain loveliness in that delicacy, the promise of fragile beauty. But for now she is simply a girl, a dainty bit of fluff in the way foals so often are.
She approaches the trio a bit hesitantly, coming close to her brother's side as her eyes catch on what had attracted their attention. A smile curves her blue lips, eyes lighting as she follows the path of the fluttering butterfly. In that one small way perhaps, she betrays herself through an observance few could make, especially coming to the conversation so late as she did. ”Oh!” she gasps, voice so soft as to be almost inaudible. ”It's so lovely.” There is true appreciation in her words, something rare and heartfelt. And perhaps the truest display of just exactly who Rapture is.
