Astana has always been a child that gives her heart too freely, too easily, believing others will not break it and they will holding it delicately in their hands as if it were a little baby bird with bones made of glass and wings made of paper mache. She thinks they will do her no harm, that she will keep that piece safe, that she can snuggle them in the corners of her heart and they will never fight to be free and leave her abandoned and hollow. And, in turn, she collects the hearts of others to fill the pieces she has given so freely away. She cups them in her hand like a little butterfly whispering to them her deepest wishes and her quietest thoughts before holding them to her petite breast and promising to never let them go. Not in a hundred years.
Not in a thousand.
His head lifts and Astana is satisfied by that simple response. She craves the interaction of others, wishes for nothing more than to bathe in a sea of faces. Those outstretched wings catch her attention. No one in her family had been able to fly, these silky appendages of his seek to fascinate her. Their silence hangs like raindrop on a leaf, Astana basking in the glow of nature’s sounds and eagerness for what he would have to say to her.
A shy smile immediately shadows her face as he compliments her, blinking pretty diamond eyes that catch the light and illuminate diamonds whenever they rise from long, blonde, lashes. He is moving closer to her, and Astana hardly moves away, still continuing to admiring him with all the curiosity that wafts like perfume on her skin of precious metal. She raises that face then to his, looking up at the colt. She is smaller than he is, destined to always be petite, delicate looking as her mother before her. “Were you wandering in the night?” She asks him, blinking once. “You seem to have caught some stars on your cheek,” she says, reaching forward with that little muzzle, letting it brush delicately against one of them, desperate to know if they feel as wonderful as they look. She pulls back only when she feels the warmth of his cheek, unabashed, the way children were. Physical touch had never been anything sly or wrong in Astana’s family, it was a way to connect, to love, to feel, to be.
What did she have in mind? Astana looks at him for a moment, thoughts turn behind that reckless grin and sun kissed, sparkling face. “I live by the ocean,” she says, an object of her ever adoring affection. “But I have never played in the waves,” Astana admits, she had stayed on the sand as the sea breeze sent feverish kisses into her skin, but she has never allowed the waves to caress her skin as a lover may hold their other. The waves were her forbidden fruit an Astana was Eve, and perhaps, she needed a serpent to give her some courage. That’s how the story went, right? “Maybe if someone came in with me, I may not be afraid?” She says, all signs pointing to what she now hints at to Malone.
The breeze blows past and hugs her body for a fleeting moment, making the day not quite as hot for a transient time. If his voice is cave water when he speaks, Astana is like a flittering bird, too infatuated with flying to decide upon any one branch to claim. “I am Astana,” she introduces herself in response. She squints at the sun for a moment, “You know, Malone,” she says, turns to him, blinking. “I think we are going to be good friends.”
@[Malone]
Not in a thousand.
His head lifts and Astana is satisfied by that simple response. She craves the interaction of others, wishes for nothing more than to bathe in a sea of faces. Those outstretched wings catch her attention. No one in her family had been able to fly, these silky appendages of his seek to fascinate her. Their silence hangs like raindrop on a leaf, Astana basking in the glow of nature’s sounds and eagerness for what he would have to say to her.
A shy smile immediately shadows her face as he compliments her, blinking pretty diamond eyes that catch the light and illuminate diamonds whenever they rise from long, blonde, lashes. He is moving closer to her, and Astana hardly moves away, still continuing to admiring him with all the curiosity that wafts like perfume on her skin of precious metal. She raises that face then to his, looking up at the colt. She is smaller than he is, destined to always be petite, delicate looking as her mother before her. “Were you wandering in the night?” She asks him, blinking once. “You seem to have caught some stars on your cheek,” she says, reaching forward with that little muzzle, letting it brush delicately against one of them, desperate to know if they feel as wonderful as they look. She pulls back only when she feels the warmth of his cheek, unabashed, the way children were. Physical touch had never been anything sly or wrong in Astana’s family, it was a way to connect, to love, to feel, to be.
What did she have in mind? Astana looks at him for a moment, thoughts turn behind that reckless grin and sun kissed, sparkling face. “I live by the ocean,” she says, an object of her ever adoring affection. “But I have never played in the waves,” Astana admits, she had stayed on the sand as the sea breeze sent feverish kisses into her skin, but she has never allowed the waves to caress her skin as a lover may hold their other. The waves were her forbidden fruit an Astana was Eve, and perhaps, she needed a serpent to give her some courage. That’s how the story went, right? “Maybe if someone came in with me, I may not be afraid?” She says, all signs pointing to what she now hints at to Malone.
The breeze blows past and hugs her body for a fleeting moment, making the day not quite as hot for a transient time. If his voice is cave water when he speaks, Astana is like a flittering bird, too infatuated with flying to decide upon any one branch to claim. “I am Astana,” she introduces herself in response. She squints at the sun for a moment, “You know, Malone,” she says, turns to him, blinking. “I think we are going to be good friends.”
@[Malone]