Juniper
until the lamb becomes the lion
The world tilts and they are there, the sea sighed in her ear and tried so hard to embrace the girl who refused the waters, and still they are there. Bodies rose from the earth and multiplied, much like the firsts that the gods created, and she does not shy away. Fear sheds like sea-drops from her skin, falling into the earth until she is bright and she is bold and she is free once more. Wings tuck to sides, ready to fly, ready to soar, ready to go at a moment's notice, but it is her eyes that stay grounded.
Green eyes glance at the three, glance at her horned companion who is handsome save for his unending pride, his unending arrogance that would be the end of him someday. If you ask, Juniper would tell you she does not wish to see his ending. He is far too lovely a face and possibility for that thought to dance and sway like her sisters in her mind. So it flutters into the breeze that nervously floats past the duo who stare at the trio.
Silence is her voice as Toulouse breaks his own, bends it into molten words to grapple at answers that she cannot riddle out quite yet. And the sighs, the laughs, the haughty reassurances fall as dew on swampy fronds, hitting their ears like grating metal in shops and burning furnaces in crafting lounges. It is harsh and soft and not at all sweet, not at all completely true or honest.
Juniper dislikes liars.
But she wonders if she would lie for love.
Vespera prizes love as much as anything else, is known for her own, and her Priestess embodies this tribute with everything she is, every ounce of herself is filtered into the coming and going and continual flowing of warmth and love both cold and cruel and warm and passionate. Like a fountain overflowing, one cannot stop her once she's started.
So with a look to Toulouse, Juniper tilts her head at him, reading questions in his eyes, deciding to trust him if even this once, and turns back to the three who see without seeing, who look the same but are not the same. To the second she looks, staring directly at the one in the middle, and inclines her head just so. "Are you the healer, Seneca?"
"Speaking." @'Tuolouse' @redandblack
Green eyes glance at the three, glance at her horned companion who is handsome save for his unending pride, his unending arrogance that would be the end of him someday. If you ask, Juniper would tell you she does not wish to see his ending. He is far too lovely a face and possibility for that thought to dance and sway like her sisters in her mind. So it flutters into the breeze that nervously floats past the duo who stare at the trio.
Silence is her voice as Toulouse breaks his own, bends it into molten words to grapple at answers that she cannot riddle out quite yet. And the sighs, the laughs, the haughty reassurances fall as dew on swampy fronds, hitting their ears like grating metal in shops and burning furnaces in crafting lounges. It is harsh and soft and not at all sweet, not at all completely true or honest.
Juniper dislikes liars.
But she wonders if she would lie for love.
Vespera prizes love as much as anything else, is known for her own, and her Priestess embodies this tribute with everything she is, every ounce of herself is filtered into the coming and going and continual flowing of warmth and love both cold and cruel and warm and passionate. Like a fountain overflowing, one cannot stop her once she's started.
So with a look to Toulouse, Juniper tilts her head at him, reading questions in his eyes, deciding to trust him if even this once, and turns back to the three who see without seeing, who look the same but are not the same. To the second she looks, staring directly at the one in the middle, and inclines her head just so. "Are you the healer, Seneca?"
