She is wrapped in the festivities of Terrastella’s court. Their joy spreads across the faces of everyone around them and their smiles shine brighter than the stars in the sky. It is infectious.
And yet, it is hard not to feel alone.
There is no one to share a warm mug of cider with, no one to laugh with, no one to hold a little tighter to fight off the chill. It is only her and her threadbare cloak. She thinks about what it would have been like if things were different; if she had only held on to him a little bit harder, if he had not slipped between her fingers like sand, would she still be here? Would she still be so lonely?
By her hand, a voice greets.
She is immediately drawn from her daze, drawn to the voice that drips like mulled wine, drawn into the storm-gray eyes of a stranger. The woman is arrestingly beautiful, made sharp and taught like the edge of a knife or the string of a bow. Her body is dark like ink, the tops of her wings a mirroring reflection. But if she had to be honest, Euphrosyne would think the most beautiful thing about her was the sweet half smile on her lips or the confidence she wore so brazenly like, well, a queen.
“By her hand.” Euphrosyne replies in turn, though she has no idea whose hand they could be talking about. “I’m sorry, I-I just got here. Are they celebrating anything special?”
And yet, it is hard not to feel alone.
There is no one to share a warm mug of cider with, no one to laugh with, no one to hold a little tighter to fight off the chill. It is only her and her threadbare cloak. She thinks about what it would have been like if things were different; if she had only held on to him a little bit harder, if he had not slipped between her fingers like sand, would she still be here? Would she still be so lonely?
By her hand, a voice greets.
She is immediately drawn from her daze, drawn to the voice that drips like mulled wine, drawn into the storm-gray eyes of a stranger. The woman is arrestingly beautiful, made sharp and taught like the edge of a knife or the string of a bow. Her body is dark like ink, the tops of her wings a mirroring reflection. But if she had to be honest, Euphrosyne would think the most beautiful thing about her was the sweet half smile on her lips or the confidence she wore so brazenly like, well, a queen.
“By her hand.” Euphrosyne replies in turn, though she has no idea whose hand they could be talking about. “I’m sorry, I-I just got here. Are they celebrating anything special?”
@Marisol
I said the second one would be better and I Lied
I said the second one would be better and I Lied
