briar
This guilt—insufferable, horrid, and such mundane guilt—writhes in her chest like a trapped and infuriated snake.
Still, the dark woman wears a smile on her face (even if it is painful). The grimace in her eyes is an easy tell to what actually races in her mind, but Briar hardly lets anyone get close enough to see.
Secrets are near and dear to heart: misgivings, mistakes, countless nights of restless shame. These quiet and solemn thoughts she keeps to herself, never allowing anyone to touch those barbs that stab deeper into her heart with each facade. That smile, though—that smile is just brilliant enough to distract from her thorny features.
Bright and sunny, that is what Momma called her.
If only she could see me now.
Ever persistent, that she is; and she sheds this mournful skin just in time to kiss the flowers that surround her hello. What fear that rested at the corner of her lips fades, and new healthy shimmer settles over her face. These late flowers have survived just enough of the autumn to greet Briar on her trek to find . . . anything (including these peachy petals).
It is the sound of a sob that jerks her head away from the colors reflecting on her dark muzzle. Concern is clear in the wrinkle of her eyes as she scans the tall grass to find the cry’s source.
The tall ears of a black and white creature find her gaze—the dark red woman sets off into a brisk trot, certain that she must help whoever else is mourning. A distraction from her own suffering, perhaps, though Briar certainly does not realize this.
“Uh . . . .hello?” she murmurs hesitantly. The young woman finds herself peering gently down at what appeared to be a heartbroken equine. “Do you need help?” It is a silly thing to ask, this Bri knows. She is just old enough to recognize that sometimes suffering does not mean immediate distress, and yet . . . she lingers.
@Araxes
hope you don't mind!
