Their gazes lock and neither one nor the other seems to intuit the should-be discomfort of their intense ocular exchange. Lillia, for her part, discerns the violet's unwavering gaze as one of fascination--no--desperation. For what, she cannot discern.
(And if she knew that he searches for corporality and substance in the cream-rose of her hide, perhaps she would laugh; for oh, how she so wishes to abandon what he so desperately seeks).
(As it stands, the absence of knowing leaves her curious, too.)
She flares her cupped nostrils to inhale his scent. Pine needles, heavy fog, long-dried sweat. And deeper within herself, in the nest of heaven that sits abreast her heart, she senses something dank and opposite to that which she embodies. An emptiness within the violet that counters her hope.
She licks her lips.
"Hope!" The word leaps from her far too quickly, the sound of her voice following after his like a dog at the ankle; but her exclamation is more subdued than a dog, yes, more like a cat, poking its head from where it rested, intrigued by the appearance of something small, twitching. "I... hope so, too." This with more care and thought, for the idea of the cavernous violet before her experiencing that which imbues her soul with meaning (hope) jostles loose some of the fog enshrining her usual self.
She softens her gaze, her lips, her posture. Steps forward, once.
"I am the Angel Lillia, and I find it nice to be in your company rather than alone in this pitiful weather." She lifts a small hoof and glances in the direction of Violet's untrodden path, her intention overt if unspoken.
(And if she knew that he searches for corporality and substance in the cream-rose of her hide, perhaps she would laugh; for oh, how she so wishes to abandon what he so desperately seeks).
(As it stands, the absence of knowing leaves her curious, too.)
She flares her cupped nostrils to inhale his scent. Pine needles, heavy fog, long-dried sweat. And deeper within herself, in the nest of heaven that sits abreast her heart, she senses something dank and opposite to that which she embodies. An emptiness within the violet that counters her hope.
She licks her lips.
"Hope!" The word leaps from her far too quickly, the sound of her voice following after his like a dog at the ankle; but her exclamation is more subdued than a dog, yes, more like a cat, poking its head from where it rested, intrigued by the appearance of something small, twitching. "I... hope so, too." This with more care and thought, for the idea of the cavernous violet before her experiencing that which imbues her soul with meaning (hope) jostles loose some of the fog enshrining her usual self.
She softens her gaze, her lips, her posture. Steps forward, once.
"I am the Angel Lillia, and I find it nice to be in your company rather than alone in this pitiful weather." She lifts a small hoof and glances in the direction of Violet's untrodden path, her intention overt if unspoken.