[private] luck pusher

[brunhilde]

i'm a geyser, feel it bubbling from below
hear it call, hear it call, hear it call to me, constantly

All too fast, the slender girl began to grow. Whatever magic took hold of her mother while Brunhilde was in her womb clearly changed her: fur the color of fire matched only by the flames she shoots forth for any reason at all. Do Kensa and Litotes regret wandering amongst the plague so freely, now? The filly muses, far too smart for her own good.

Having been exposed to a kidnapped father, stressed out mother, and empty homeland . . . she feels she knows too much.

What might be a trauma for others, Brunhilde sees as a power (still so naive in her age). She sunbathes by Hyaline’s lake most days, casting her glittering disapproval upon the barren land as if it will never be able to serve her better. It is pitiful - to those that know each little twist of the knife in her side - how she is incapable of processing her pain. Even as a child, she turns her sourness on herself and others, butterflies falling to ash at her feet whenever the bite of forbidden fruit rots in her mouth.

Kensa always tells her, don’t you dare wander too far. Does the little flame ever listen? Absolutely not. Every few days she wanders closer to the plague. She can never help it; fire runs so hot in her veins, even those who made her will not come close to taming her. Nature has molded her into the kind to do exactly as she is told not to. Brave or stupid - perhaps she will discover that as she ages.

The Brilliant Pampas is lovely and safe when it spreads before Brunhilde. She casts one twinkling golden eye back to where Hyaline looms, but ultimately decides to continue her confident stride away from home.

The girl is a sight amongst the flowers: surrounded by butterflies and swathed in grace too suggestive for a child. Irony pervades the few first feet surrounding her as she sets a flower or two alight, rolling her eyes around for anything more interesting.

and hear the harmony only when it's harming me
it's not real, it's not real, it's not real enough

Brunhilde

@[cleave]