oh my Dearest
they will eat you alive
they will eat you alive
"Are you crying?” Her mother asked as the child stood there whimpering with her face buried in her neck, “Come here, love. Let me see you.”
With an exaggerated sniff, she looked up to the golden woman and said in a voice stained with tears, “That boy pulled my hair. AND he said I smelled funny.” Her mother’s amusement immediately rang out loud and true. “Why are you laughing?! MOM! I DON’T SMELL FUNNY.”
Dearest stood there. It could have been for hours or simply seconds. Which one she would never know and in all honesty, the red girl doesn't care about fickle things like time. Instead, she embraced the echo inside of her chest. The longing for home was painful but it was also familiar and so she studied the statue of the figure that she knew almost better than herself, letting her golden gaze drink in each curve and dip. The irises, mirrored copies of her own, seemed so alive. They stared upward, reflecting the sun like the surface of a pond and swirling with words that stone lips couldn't speak. She took a small, hesitant step forward and started to reach out.
“She is pretty”, said a voice to the right of her, tearing her from the trance she had trapped herself in. Stunned by this revelation, her eyes went wide like saucers, turning away from the statue to meet those of a stranger. She had, in her own naïve way, expected it to be the old merchant from the shore with his gap-toothed grin and deep wrinkles but she quickly realized this was no fish monger. He was not weathered and worn with the scent of salt stuck to his skin. He was a creature who seemed to rise from the island itself, with the towering horns of a stag that only added to his height advantage. Vines and flowers hung tangled there, softening the large shadow he casted in her mind. She liked the way the green sat against his darker skin and hair, even if it did end in gilded tips that looked stolen from a dragon’s hoard. She only noticed she was staring when, after a moment, it sunk it that he had asked her a question after the compliment. Embarrassed and with a blush darkening her already wine-stained cheeks, she blinked several times and returned her eyes to his face, as if that would chase her thoughts away. Her response came with a nervous laugh, one that rebounded through the hills much like the ringing of her bells had.
“Thank you. That is...” She paused, searching for the right word, ”very sweet of you. And yes. My mother.” Her voice lifted as she spoke, clearly showing that she held the matriarch in high regard, “She is such an infuriating woman that no one can do anything but love her. The pose catches that beautifully. I’m,” She paused again, the pretty frown on her black lips making a reappearance, “I’m not sure why it’s here.”
Immediately though, in a child-like way of jumping through emotions, her expression brightened as an exciting thought occurred, “Is that who you are? Some sort of... guide? Question answerer? Do you know where it came from?” She realized she was rapid firing her words at this man she knew nothing about, possibly overwhelmingly, but there was little she could do to rein herself in. It was all so interesting, and what the old man told her earlier rang in her head about getting use to oddish things. This certainly seemed to fit that description and she couldn’t help but think how much better it was than being bored.
