MINYA
take that look from off your face
you ain't gunna burn my heart out
you ain't gunna burn my heart out
The stranger stretches her wings like a gull ready for flight. So keen, so ready, the winds rush to meet her. Snow flurries gather beneath each wing and toy through her feathers. Up! Up! they seem to urge but the girl remains steadfast. She holds her wings delicate and close.
Snow clings upon Minya’s lashes, they press cold kisses upon her lips and nestle, as they melt, wet and cold, into the fire-girl’s hair. Oh that cold water slips to press against her neck and cheeks. Flurries, flurries that make her shiver and turn her cheeks red as crimson apples. But oh this girl is steel her skin is that of metal and she will not let a blush stain her cheeks or else be seen as weak or soft.
Her hood pulls tighter about the graceful angles of her delicate face and she sighs into the moaning winter wind. She turns moon bright eyes upon the stranger and takes a step to lead them on.
“The city, Denocte, is not far.” She says and it is as if Minya’s very words are frost that line her lips, her tongue. Do they settle across Kos’ skin? Turning the gold of her white with ice and perilous winter. “You must be cold.” And Minya is musing, for her lips are chill and her knees ache with the cold – how must it be to be a stranger with no protection from the wind?
If she closes her eyes, if she succumbs to the dark of her imagination, then before her it will paint the warm glow of the White Scarab and its merry hearth. “I can take you somewhere warm. They will feed you and give you a place for rest, if you would like.” But oh, then she pauses and regards this other girl carefully. Minya is adorned in gems, the winter winds prize at the tails of her cloak yearning to push them back, to run its icy fingers over the warm gems that hand close to Minya’s silver skin. “My name is Minya. It is not wise to travel alone when the weather is as cold as this.”
And she says nothing of her own, lonely, journey.
@Kos | "speaks" | notes: <3
