last I saw you were down on your knees; any

[salt]

to make something beautiful should be enough;

She walks a strange line between the worlds. Every bit of her is an intermingling – her father the king of a mortal land, her mother a queen of the dead; they’d mated to produce…what? A princess of some in-between, not fitting in either spectrum.
This doesn’t matter her, exactly, but it makes her restless. She shifts often, more comfortable in her incorporeal form, but she doesn’t stay so forever – stay too long as a ghost, and you ache for the certain sensations of the flesh.
She sighs to herself (she hasn’t noticed the other girl, not yet). It’s a cyclical argument she has with herself quite often, and it never comes to any kind of conclusion.

But then the other girl makes herself known, coming out into Salt’s little piece of the meadow. Salt smiles at her, dips her head for a moment in greeting.
“Hello,” she says, “what’s your name?”
She realizes a beat later that this was slightly rude – demanding, even. To ask the girl’s name without offering her own.
“Sorry,” she says, “I’m Salt. What’s your name?”
Better, she thinks. Interactions are still strange to her, and she always feels a step behind. But she tries.

salt