Lacey
Okay. It was fine. All good. She hadn't been off the island since the invasion, so what? She could do this. But then, that wasn't really the problem, was it? Because, before that, she hadn't been off the island since the assault. Since she'd been found in a bloody mess in the forest and taken home.
Lacey, he'd named her.
And lacey she was.
The intricate pattern marked each of her hips, flawless and detailed and beautiful. He was an artist, and she his masterpiece. The lights and shadows slipped across those beautiful scars, determined sunlight caressing her through the breaks in the trees. And yet, beneath the fine lace, she was just plain. A brownish sort of grullo, with brown hair, brown eyes. Dull. He'd made her beautiful, in his way. But it didn't change that she was undesirable. Unwanted.
The trees reminded her of that day. She'd almost led them to the meadow instead, to the wide open and sunlight. She didn't really care to be seen by so many though. Didn't want to see the judgement in their eyes. But most importantly, her daughter loved the water. And the river was the closest to home.
Baby steps.
She walked quietly with Kylin at her side. So quietly. Was there anyone that remembered her before that day? The fire in her eyes and the blades of her sharp tongue. The snappy wit with clever comebacks at the ready, rapid-fire in execution. But quiet now.
How do you like it, baby? she murmured dimly into the impossibly soft lavender hair of her daughter. Lacey was so young, herself. Practically more like an older sister, she felt like. She nudged Kylin's neck, gesturing to the water. Kylin's favorite. See anyone you might want to talk to?
