06-12-2018, 08:57 AM
the secret of our world is written in the stars
It does not take long for the conversation to shift, and though he would have continued encouraged her that her new crown would fit perfectly atop her head, he welcomes the change in subject. Ruling and leadership are not things he can truly understand (though he knows about them, is familiar with them) in a way that his sisters seem to do, and thus feels as if his opinion is rather unwarranted in most cases. Besides, his sisters will do what they like with or without his approval (that is something he rather enjoys about them), but for some reason his steady voice and encouragement soothes them. He does not mind giving it.
“Oh you know,” he replies with a mischievous toss of his head, cerulean eyes sparkling dangerously. “Whatever I feel like doing.” His nose wrinkles playfully (because, of course, that’s not entirely true) as he stretches towards her to nip gently at her auburn shoulder, pulling his head back immediately with a wild toss. Tendrils of sky blue and white fall haphazardly across the bridge of his pale-gold nose, shielding a single blue eye from view.
Svedka then laughs at her next statement; a deep, resonating sound that is both comforting and delightful to hear. “Well,” he begins, still in the midst of a chuckle, “I wouldn’t say just one.” The world, and people, are too beautiful for just one. “Though I feel as though I am perhaps the desperate one.” He laughs again, prancing forward through the ankle-deep water as he jokes about himself, a smile plastered to the pink-rose of his mouth. Suddenly, as his mind thinks about all of the lovely creatures he had met since he last saw Wishbone, he halts and his brows rise. “There is one girl I met, in the River this last winter. Wishbone, she could walk on water.” His voice is soft with admiration and nearly disbelief. If he had not seen it for himself, he probably would not have believed it either.
“Oh you know,” he replies with a mischievous toss of his head, cerulean eyes sparkling dangerously. “Whatever I feel like doing.” His nose wrinkles playfully (because, of course, that’s not entirely true) as he stretches towards her to nip gently at her auburn shoulder, pulling his head back immediately with a wild toss. Tendrils of sky blue and white fall haphazardly across the bridge of his pale-gold nose, shielding a single blue eye from view.
Svedka then laughs at her next statement; a deep, resonating sound that is both comforting and delightful to hear. “Well,” he begins, still in the midst of a chuckle, “I wouldn’t say just one.” The world, and people, are too beautiful for just one. “Though I feel as though I am perhaps the desperate one.” He laughs again, prancing forward through the ankle-deep water as he jokes about himself, a smile plastered to the pink-rose of his mouth. Suddenly, as his mind thinks about all of the lovely creatures he had met since he last saw Wishbone, he halts and his brows rise. “There is one girl I met, in the River this last winter. Wishbone, she could walk on water.” His voice is soft with admiration and nearly disbelief. If he had not seen it for himself, he probably would not have believed it either.
(be my escape)
Svedka