as though a loyal hound, she stepped through the corridor -- and there was peace, peace within the hallowed walls.
the quiet blanketed her, dulled the mind and the ache of old wounds. there came no whispering, no ache. she simply existed within those walls as though she always had and it was nearly enough to elicit a smile to cross the threshold of her countenance. yet, it remained still: unmoved despite the moonlit ardor in her heart. perhaps she had found her sole joy; but then again, she'd always had a softness for solitude. denocte was quiet at this hour, and had she been beyond the walls of the court, she'd see the crimson wash of sunlight lifting across the horizon. it would bite into the indigo of their beloved night, devouring their sweetened obsidian cover. she disliked watching the stars be consumed by day, the moon being burned from view; she absolutely abhorred the heat of it's glow or the stains it bleached onto her pelt.
dvalinn, as you should know, could be rather vain.
and yet, she still paced the halls -- aimlessly, a restlessness she could not name. she could not imagine herself being lonesome, much as she would deny, it could have been true. perhaps the hag had been too much of a comfort, or the raven that once shadowed her steps had been a crutch. well, for that she'd never admit either, and all in all, the very reason she'd kept him and kept words with the gruesome thing. still, the sage hung onto her forlorn wanderings; her independence. there were duties to undertake, for that she understood. but that did not mean dillydallying with rabble, or carrying on with mindless chittering.
always one to brood, she fell comfortably into that; ceasing her steps, and allowing boredom to guide her eyes along the court's walls, debating whether or not she should allow sleep to take her.
the woods are lovely; dark and deep
the quiet blanketed her, dulled the mind and the ache of old wounds. there came no whispering, no ache. she simply existed within those walls as though she always had and it was nearly enough to elicit a smile to cross the threshold of her countenance. yet, it remained still: unmoved despite the moonlit ardor in her heart. perhaps she had found her sole joy; but then again, she'd always had a softness for solitude. denocte was quiet at this hour, and had she been beyond the walls of the court, she'd see the crimson wash of sunlight lifting across the horizon. it would bite into the indigo of their beloved night, devouring their sweetened obsidian cover. she disliked watching the stars be consumed by day, the moon being burned from view; she absolutely abhorred the heat of it's glow or the stains it bleached onto her pelt.
dvalinn, as you should know, could be rather vain.
and yet, she still paced the halls -- aimlessly, a restlessness she could not name. she could not imagine herself being lonesome, much as she would deny, it could have been true. perhaps the hag had been too much of a comfort, or the raven that once shadowed her steps had been a crutch. well, for that she'd never admit either, and all in all, the very reason she'd kept him and kept words with the gruesome thing. still, the sage hung onto her forlorn wanderings; her independence. there were duties to undertake, for that she understood. but that did not mean dillydallying with rabble, or carrying on with mindless chittering.
always one to brood, she fell comfortably into that; ceasing her steps, and allowing boredom to guide her eyes along the court's walls, debating whether or not she should allow sleep to take her.
