If a heart could rise up the throat, the way the stomach sometimes does, that’s exactly what Reckitt’s would have done in this moment, and in a way- it had done just that. There was nothing physically apparent about the organ, but the tone of her words was enough to convey her emotion. Words that were as crimson and vital as blood could ever be, if your eyes closed as she lamented, perhaps you would be able to feel them bleeding through. Her cry was one of pain, loss, confusion, there were so many emotions to feel- so many mixed up thoughts to sift through.
So she was somewhere new, this had happened before, but her heart ached and longed for the world she left. Too much was left undone, unsaid, she had settled in so easily and once more she was ripped up by the roots from her soil. What is the meaning of life? she thought to herself, looking at the ground with forlorn golden eyes. It is not often that the pale dove has such conflicting thoughts, in light of recent events, perhaps her inner turmoil is understandable. The tears that slowly trail down her face certainly are, leaving rivers against her cheeks that are damp and dirty.
In all her fussing, she is surprised when someone comes, but it is not the someone she called out for, nor was it a someone she knew or expected.
A new face, long and faded red, she watched as he approached in part shock and part awe. There were winged wolves in Ourania, a thing completely new to her, something that was Magical when she encountered it, she was often left staring at the propellers in admiration. These wings, they were so much different than what she has been so far exposed to, the stretched membranes much like that of a bat. Kitt regarded him with an inkling of uncertainty, though she does not yet rise and run, partially because she had yet to leave the ground. His cerulean gaze is somewhat soft, if not a bit worn, and she carefully chooses her words now.
Does he know I’m not supposed to be here, does he know I am not one of them? Will there be consequences for the state she finds herself in?
“You have,” she says in words that are brittle, they could crumble like a leaf in Autumn the way they strain to free themselves from her milky lips. “I’m not sure how I’ve come to be here,” another sort of vague introduction, and it is only now that she attempts to stand for the first time, the lengthy legs feel like stilts. Swaying her way to standing, wobbling like a newborn filly, she must look pathetic.
@rouge
