Reticence is always a quality Margot strives for, though she may not always succeed in such mystery. It is not what she feels now—neither shrewd nor secretive—as the sun continues to reveal more and more of itself. Like the blistering star above, parts of Margot she has not addressed in years begin to rear their heads (and bare their teeth and tear into her flesh).
She doesn’t feel reticent as her pale eyes sweep over the demon interrupting her bath.
There is no fear or shadow, no secret behind her bright smile.
“You find me peculiar?” she questions, blinking thrice before tilting her head in thought. “No more peculiar than every other withering creature that calls this place home? I don’t think I could bear to be considered like all the rest.” There’s no real plea in her last statement, no desperation despite the words themselves sounding quite insecure. Margot’s truth is simply different from the world, or so she believes.
Through it all, Margot remains curled within the steady stream of the water, watching. Her smile never fades even as all kinds of thoughts and possibilities cross her mind, even as she drifts pale pink tendrils of magic only she can see toward Severe.
“I would call you peculiar, but you aren’t to me.” The little mare drops her grin just a touch before dipping her head in a more formal greeting, “My name is Margot.”
@Severe