it's a guarantee that he won't forget me.
my body little, my soul heavy.
Snow continues to fall on her lashes, lights continue to glimmer in the reflection of her eyes. Naia stares like she has never seen the world before, palm trees and impossibly white sand and glittering orbs so foreign to her. A smile, so pure and child-like it might break a spectator’s heart, passes somberly over her lips. Ahead the crowd mingles in distant murmurs, but to the girl the entire world goes silent: it is just her, the gray clouds, and a peace she cannot name.
A tingling starts at the tip of her nose and travels lazily down her spine, to the base of her tail, then passing over her skin in an almost overwhelming wave. Naia drops her head slowly, wide eyes casting over the roan fur turned black and gold. The coffee color of her eyes grows into a complete circle each as she studies the gold spots and velvet black. She does not understand, perhaps she never will (how strange the magic of Beqanna will always be), but a tiny tear drips down the side of her face.
A change of scenery, snow that soothes (or suppresses) the heat of anger, the solitude of a life she realizes she has yet to live: she does not understand and she wants to scream, to run, to be as far away from who she is as possible.
“. . . name is Tiphon.”
Naia snaps to attention, the damp track of her single tear suddenly ending at the edge of her cheek, the clear drop leaving a finally hole in the snow. The beauty of Tiphon is what she notices first, usually neutral gaze now caught off-guard and wandering freely over his countenance. Her breathe catches in her throat, a mixture of surprise and embarrassment. He continues to speak, kindly and questioning. On any other night the appaloosa may have glared coldly and turned away, but the fury and change battling and blooming in her chest leaves her at a quiet and naive loss.
The swirling of her gaze drops to the snow, an abashed smile stretching hesitantly across her lips. Where is she from? She certainly feels like an alien.
“I suppose you can say I am from Nerine,” she replies, drawing her head back to its full height retaining what dignity she feels she has left. “Though I would think I am its newest resident.” Her lips turn wry now, the bitter flavor of a large family she knows nothing of swirling on her tongue.
“My name is Naia. Are you from here?”
The confusion, fear, and pain from moments before still linger in the back of her mind, threatening to flood over at any moment. A party - her first ever one, for whatever that means - is no place for a breakdown. For now, she will continue to suppress.
@[Tiphon] i hope you don't mind, i was really eager to give naia her coat change, and i thought her little existential crisis would be the perfect time :~p