through every collapse and creation,
there is a pulse that echoes of you and I.
There is a softness to her that the world lacks, a loveliness that is ethereal and impossible to explain. She is the gentle trickle of rain, the soft brush of grass on an ankle, the tender caress of a summer breeze. Something that is both almost imperceptible and necessary.
The world needs such tenderness like it needs the darkness.
So there is Rapture, still young and sweet and innocent. A wisp of blue and white in the shadows of the trees.
She probably should not be here, and most definitely not alone, but there is a draw to this place. Something that had pulled her from her safe little corner of Nerine into the huge, wide world. But the forest at least is safe in its obscurity. There are nooks and crannies, hollows and divots in which she can easily hide. She is not brave like her brother. Like her mother and father. She enjoys her quiet life, the still and calm of monotony. They, her family, are predators (her brother in quite a literal sense). And she, she is not.
She is a violet, not weak or fainting, but quietly unobtrusive in a shy, lovely way.
But still, she is here, out of her depths in the unfamiliar. All because something of this forest had spoken to her.
@[Shelbi]
