But it will not be long
Before their wild confusion
Fall wavering down to cover
The poet and his song.
Before their wild confusion
Fall wavering down to cover
The poet and his song.
She has not come to party exclusively, no, this is the best time for her work and so she is at the festival’s center, whenever she can, dancing and dancing and dancing until her cup is full of coin or she has seen enough smiles to say, “I have done enough work,” and go drink and dance and sleep, under the seasonal lights, or alone or with company.
So today is one of such days, during the festivities, where she is in the middle of it, her violin belting out jigs from worlds beyond. Mesnyi is always looking for patrons, though thus far none have lasted for more than a few weeks; she is easily bored and so are they. She hasn’t found the tireless lover who would give all his money to support her mere existence. That is part of why she often toys with leaving Novus, but there is nowhere to go but farther from where she might be found and so she is still here.
And it is in her tireless search that she sees a finely dressed young man. There are many, of course, and countless Deluminians and travelers alike wear their nicest garb for the festival, but he looks expensive. So it is without any illusion of coyness that she dances up to him, shimmering with sweat and her natural iridescence, jasmine-scent blooming around her. ”Good afternoon,” she bows, and rises again; she never stops moving.
@
"You see, women are like fires, like flames. Some women are like candles, bright and friendly. Some are like single sparks, or embers, like fireflies for chasing on summer nights. Some are like campfires, all light and heat for a night and willing to be left after. Some women are like hearthfires, not much to look at but underneath they are all warm red coal that burns a long, long while."
![[Image: 26y3cfu.png]](https://i.imgur.com/26y3cfu.png)
plotter
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