open hand or closed fist would be fine
--rosemary
the blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine
Still effervescent with the innocence of a girl, Rosemary finds she can no longer resist the shadows of the forest despite her father's warnings. Days pass and Rose, for all her concern and quiet devotion, leaves the warm clutches of her parents more and more. Living tucked into the warmth of her father's shadows has taught no lesson Litotes thought it would; instead, Rose seeks out the darkness even more, desperate to know the comforting touch of a stranger's nuanced, twisted magic.
Flippant with youth and the confidence of a beautiful, pursued girl, the smile on Rose's face is wide and untarnished. She steps with a sway and a flick of her tail, so certain of herself without the barren, hollow arrogance that often accompanies youthful breeziness. So full of life, that Rosemary, so unaware of the monsters that would love nothing more than to swallow her innocence like a heartily seasoned meal.
For all that innocence, that fervent appetite for life, Rose's affinity for darkness manifests quite plainly. Dying in a Halloween quest and carrying magic she does not know of has not changed her attitude, but it has given her power she has yet to learn lessons from. And isn't that where innocence finds danger? When naivety and power collide? To see others so clearly and call them so easily - perhaps she will grow old with mistakes, with accidentally broken hearts and the weight of strangers' secrets.
But she doesn't know that suffering - oh, that clear and precise lack of suffering. It shows in her proud head and wickedly beautiful smile.
So, when she stumbles upon Molech and senses the weight and sees the stormy haze surrounding him, she doesn't turn away. The sensation settling upon her shoulders is comfortable. Not yet too much to carry. He reminds her of the monsters she loves, their fascinating lack of morality - their darkness. She doesn't question her magic, not yet. She simply folds into it:
"Hi," Rose purrs, so very pleased, "Are you out at night because you like it, too?"
Flippant with youth and the confidence of a beautiful, pursued girl, the smile on Rose's face is wide and untarnished. She steps with a sway and a flick of her tail, so certain of herself without the barren, hollow arrogance that often accompanies youthful breeziness. So full of life, that Rosemary, so unaware of the monsters that would love nothing more than to swallow her innocence like a heartily seasoned meal.
For all that innocence, that fervent appetite for life, Rose's affinity for darkness manifests quite plainly. Dying in a Halloween quest and carrying magic she does not know of has not changed her attitude, but it has given her power she has yet to learn lessons from. And isn't that where innocence finds danger? When naivety and power collide? To see others so clearly and call them so easily - perhaps she will grow old with mistakes, with accidentally broken hearts and the weight of strangers' secrets.
But she doesn't know that suffering - oh, that clear and precise lack of suffering. It shows in her proud head and wickedly beautiful smile.
So, when she stumbles upon Molech and senses the weight and sees the stormy haze surrounding him, she doesn't turn away. The sensation settling upon her shoulders is comfortable. Not yet too much to carry. He reminds her of the monsters she loves, their fascinating lack of morality - their darkness. She doesn't question her magic, not yet. She simply folds into it:
"Hi," Rose purrs, so very pleased, "Are you out at night because you like it, too?"
