RHOSWEN,
They stand together, alight, ferocious. Burning creatures in the sand. Rhoswen did not flinch from the searing gaze this girl threw upon her skin, words of silk and saturated nectar lilting into the air. There was something caustic about this golden child, something that reminded Rhos of herself even, and at this a marriage of excitement and antagonism rose in her throat. Naturally, the red-head was competitive, viciously so, but she did not feel threatened by her fellow desert dweller. Instead she listened to the kindred spirit humming in the channel between them both; fervently alive. "Why then, I should have to call you beautiful," a laugh - it suited her, laughter, "My father called me Rhoswen, he always told me it meant blessed rose." She looked away for a moment, rolling her eyes, "fuck roses, I'd rather be nightshade."
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