Delicate things are pretty - cute, even,
but you are not delicate.
You are wild and lewd and unpredictable.
You are breathtaking.
You are beautiful.
Oh dear. She seems to have gotten herself turned around again. Quite by accident. It’s tricky, this time thing. Subtle and shifting and, well, not quite straight. It had started ages ago (or was it only yesterday? Hard to keep track sometimes), when she’d tried to escape Taiga. And that horrid magicians sticky fingers. He’d tried to keep her there, but she is not made to be kept. She is made to be free and roam and see everything. She is meant for the world, not one small, greedy man.
But, well, she hadn’t gotten it quite right. Practice, she keeps telling herself. All it will take is practice. So she keeps trying.
She’d lost the twins somewhere in there. She only wishes she could find where. Now, before you go start thinking she’s a horrible mother, they had been rather rambunctious little babes. Always wandering too far off and exploring things they shouldn’t. Besides, they’d been old enough to fend for themselves by the time she’d, erm, misplaced them. Though, truth be told, she thinks little Emerald had something to do with it. Her pretty green girl seemed to have the habit of making things go a little wonky. She couldn’t blame her, of course. She’d been born that way (and, well, Giohde isn’t quite aware enough of her own faults to consider that it might very well have been her).
She’d find them. Soon. Hopefully. But at least they’re together, she thinks.
Suddenly, the air pops around her and she stumbles into the stunning vista of brilliant rose hues and satin yellows of a morning sunrise. A rather beautiful one, she thinks, pausing to admire the lovely horizon. She blinks (three eyes, though she has long since forgotten her oddity. Until someone comes along to remind her, though she would hardly mind. She rather enjoys it, truth be told) before peering around the meadow, a sigh escaping her as she does so. It’s summer, the grasses long and swaying in a slight breeze, the faint scent of warmth and sun and dust lingering in the air.
The real question however, is when? It’s easy to lose track, you see. Regrettably easy. Perhaps one of these days she’d get it straight.
Giohde
@[Elektrum]