LET ME SHOW YOU
what you've been missing
It's strange to wander into a land and never feel eyes on them, they think. A place where judgements aren't spoken aloud, where barbed whispers don't chase them down. Cicatrix has long learned that the words of the ones that wish to hurt them were nothing, but that didn't mean they didn't haunt them wherever they went. They were well aware of how they looked, a face with no skin, a drip of blue glimmering liquid. It isn't as if the sight of them is something . . . normal. They're well aware of how different they are, how they can easily cause unease . . . yet something still compelled them to come to this festival.
There's a sweep of feathers and thin skin, their wings catching air as they land delicately on golden hooves, feeling weight press down and taking in a breath as they do. The astronomer carefully tucks their wings to their sides, hiding the maps that stretched over the expanse of blues and blacks. So far, so good. A few glances were cast their way, but that's something that comes with being well . . . them. Carefully, they arrange the cloak that much closer to themselves, the golden rings on the top of it pressing against the onyx pitch of their skull, and they turn their head away slowly, taking in the sounds and sighs of the place. It's bright here, warm, a sort of sensation that could be related to home, if they had ever bothered to talk about it.
With a soft jingle of chains, they lower their head a little, attempting to make themselves seem that much smaller. If there was someone to talk to, they could seek them out. For now though, Cicatrix makes a beeline toward a fire, if only to admire the warmth and the way the flames dance and move. Something is calming about it, enough so that their legs fold and carefully they lay down, light enough on their legs that it wouldn't bother them to do so.
There's a sweep of feathers and thin skin, their wings catching air as they land delicately on golden hooves, feeling weight press down and taking in a breath as they do. The astronomer carefully tucks their wings to their sides, hiding the maps that stretched over the expanse of blues and blacks. So far, so good. A few glances were cast their way, but that's something that comes with being well . . . them. Carefully, they arrange the cloak that much closer to themselves, the golden rings on the top of it pressing against the onyx pitch of their skull, and they turn their head away slowly, taking in the sounds and sighs of the place. It's bright here, warm, a sort of sensation that could be related to home, if they had ever bothered to talk about it.
With a soft jingle of chains, they lower their head a little, attempting to make themselves seem that much smaller. If there was someone to talk to, they could seek them out. For now though, Cicatrix makes a beeline toward a fire, if only to admire the warmth and the way the flames dance and move. Something is calming about it, enough so that their legs fold and carefully they lay down, light enough on their legs that it wouldn't bother them to do so.
ooc|| god it's been aGES
