02-25-2016, 06:57 PM
Oh to be young again! To have never seen the outside world - to have been sheltered and cajoled, hidden away from life’s tragedies and troubles. To have that spark of curiosity for each and every new venture - a story waiting to unfold. And isn’t that what this is? Dear Rome’s true story is about to begin - a blank page, beyond the swirling sand of the Deserts and the haven of mother. Here, there was no safety net to catch you when you fall.
Yes, winter perhaps had been a poor choice. But more than that, perhaps it was a slightly worse off choice to let your child fly free moments before the wild rumpus began. To Lucrezia’s credit, at least she let you roam - most mothers kept their young close by, free to roam, but never too far. Rome, you seem to have free reign - a final release into the big, wide world. Welcome, little feline - are you ready to write your story?
Eight watches you enter - your wide eyes and his unfamiliarity with the thick blanket beneath him. Why, you are like a scene from a snow globe. Oh what a shame it would be for someone to shake it up, no?
What luck for Eight to have something so.. eccentric as you. True, Beqanna was full of intricate traits -fire benders and mind readers, horses that could heal with a touch. But none so much as an ocelot child. How peculiar it must feel to be the lone one in the world - no other soul with traits quite like yours.
Your child like innocence is stark in the quiet forest. Luckily, there is no other soul around. Most have heard of the break of war - they had seen, smelled the flames that wafted from the various kingdoms, or they had their respective magicians peek into their minds and spill the spoils of war. But you? Well you were in your solid little snow globe - a land of your own, fueled by that ever growing curiosity. How does that go? Curiosity killed the cat? Lucky for you, you’re an ocelot equine.
You are never far from Eight’s sight - your anomaly of a figure floating in and out of the picture in his head. He knows you’ll come - there is no stopping you now, a child set in his curious ways. Your snowglobe is only so big - the flurry will eventually bring you here.
And so it does- your lithe form breaking at the end of the copse of trees, your eyes landing quite quickly on the flower flowing from Eight’s magic. And he knows you will not stray now. Although you are no stranger to the magic and might of Beqanna - have you ever quite met a magician?
Eight steps quietly from the thick of the trees - growing the flower as he goes, vines reaching outwards, tickling at the mid of your legs, like small hands grasping for you to hold.
“Beautiful, no? How something can thrive even in the darkest of times.”
He steps further closer, finally ceasing the growth of the flower before you. “Rome, isn’t it?” He looks down to the flower at your feet, and it begins to transform - growing upwards into a cat o’ nine tails - except it’s pattern is that of yours, an ocelot o’ nine tails, perhaps? “The only one of your kind.” And with a small bob of his head, Eight vanishes the flora before you.
“Eight.” He says, and he turns towards the forest of trees, giving you a glance behind him before he enters the thick of it.
Yes, winter perhaps had been a poor choice. But more than that, perhaps it was a slightly worse off choice to let your child fly free moments before the wild rumpus began. To Lucrezia’s credit, at least she let you roam - most mothers kept their young close by, free to roam, but never too far. Rome, you seem to have free reign - a final release into the big, wide world. Welcome, little feline - are you ready to write your story?
Eight watches you enter - your wide eyes and his unfamiliarity with the thick blanket beneath him. Why, you are like a scene from a snow globe. Oh what a shame it would be for someone to shake it up, no?
What luck for Eight to have something so.. eccentric as you. True, Beqanna was full of intricate traits -fire benders and mind readers, horses that could heal with a touch. But none so much as an ocelot child. How peculiar it must feel to be the lone one in the world - no other soul with traits quite like yours.
Your child like innocence is stark in the quiet forest. Luckily, there is no other soul around. Most have heard of the break of war - they had seen, smelled the flames that wafted from the various kingdoms, or they had their respective magicians peek into their minds and spill the spoils of war. But you? Well you were in your solid little snow globe - a land of your own, fueled by that ever growing curiosity. How does that go? Curiosity killed the cat? Lucky for you, you’re an ocelot equine.
You are never far from Eight’s sight - your anomaly of a figure floating in and out of the picture in his head. He knows you’ll come - there is no stopping you now, a child set in his curious ways. Your snowglobe is only so big - the flurry will eventually bring you here.
And so it does- your lithe form breaking at the end of the copse of trees, your eyes landing quite quickly on the flower flowing from Eight’s magic. And he knows you will not stray now. Although you are no stranger to the magic and might of Beqanna - have you ever quite met a magician?
Eight steps quietly from the thick of the trees - growing the flower as he goes, vines reaching outwards, tickling at the mid of your legs, like small hands grasping for you to hold.
“Beautiful, no? How something can thrive even in the darkest of times.”
He steps further closer, finally ceasing the growth of the flower before you. “Rome, isn’t it?” He looks down to the flower at your feet, and it begins to transform - growing upwards into a cat o’ nine tails - except it’s pattern is that of yours, an ocelot o’ nine tails, perhaps? “The only one of your kind.” And with a small bob of his head, Eight vanishes the flora before you.
“Eight.” He says, and he turns towards the forest of trees, giving you a glance behind him before he enters the thick of it.