What a silly thing, Galadriel once thought of ambition. Fickle and fleeting, never loyal to any single desire. She didn’t follow it—ambition—for an agonizing time. She let her emotions rule her every move, allowed the capricious creatures around her to convince her to remain stagnant and so terribly, terribly sour.
But now? Now, Galadriel swells with the might of her drive. She feels the pleasing certainty of knowing exactly who she wants to be and what she desires to be hers. So many, many things she longs to shelter beneath her umbrella of will. It’s the thread of power Reave first threaded into Rel’s skin—it’s the mystery of who she might become if she were to only give in to admitting her needs.
A pretty dance she twists through the fog, beneath towering redwoods and past shadowy, blinking figures. What might and mystery Taiga has always beheld. Rel allows it to flow through her, to breathe life into her: her body melts into water, collecting dewdrops and lingering mist as she goes. A lovely thing, fae-like and mischievous.
Hardly a soul knows of what roils beneath that sparkling, liquid skin.
Galadriel hums to herself, keen eyes scanning the ground the early morning fog does such a good job of camouflaging. It isn’t until she spots a pretty woman that she stops, violet eyes glimmering beneath fluttering lids.
“Hello,” Rel calls, voice sure and echoed. She approaches confidently, head held high.
“Do you live here?”
@Wrenley