lips dance around your neck.
The spring is new and blossoming, and the sun is bright and high in the sky. There is a breeze, still carrying the chill of the sea with it, trailing its fingers down the streets of the dusk court like a child running with their hands pressed against all the walls of the buildings. Ia relish in the feel of the sun on their back, soaking up warmth like new flower buds.
Terrastella is beautiful, even in early spring. There is the distant sound of waves diving against the cliffs, the call of seabirds soaring above, and every archway seems to be decorated with crawling vines promising that, soon, there will be flowers. If it weren’t for having to travel through the swamp to get anywhere in this place, they might even move to someplace like this.
But Denocte is good to them, and Olympia can’t be bothered with the muck and bugs more than a few times a year. Harmonia just likes the exoctic plant-life to be found around every twisted tree trunk.
They pause in the street, the sun turning their auburn shades of hair to gold. Around them other horses pass, their hooves making staccato beats on the cobblestone. Each one that steals a second glance their way or stops and stares meets Olympia’s dripping, honey gold eyes. Harmonia smiles gently from behind the curtain of her sister’s hair.
The wind picks up the smell of flowers and pomegranates off their skin and drags it down the streets. Olympia drinks in the attention of every eye that lands on them like it is cool water, like she is parched, but Harmonia is trying to move them down the street.
“Remember, we’re not here for pleasure Olympia,” the glass-eyed sister says, “we are here for work.” The lighter haired of the two turns her eyes on Harmonia with an almost sinister pout. “Oh, but who says we cannot do both, dear sister?” The way she looks at the equines lining the streets, bathing in the sunlight, is like hunger, “Just a taste is all I desire.”
