Little breezes dusk and shiver
Thro' the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Aster does not laugh when the woman with the silver-moon face approaches her with a question.
Neither does she reply, at first. Instead she only regards the stranger the way she might an orchid, or a swan, or a constellation - something lovely and interesting and other. The fae girl’s lips bloom in a smile soft and slight as the curl of a calla lily, her eyes glinting gold as its center. Pollen still freckles her nose.
“If I am,” she says at last, as the sourceless music deepens to a hum, “are you one of my subjects?” Aster decides that she would like to have such a mare beside her, the cosmos dusting her haunches and her feet like cloud-soft snow.
Before she can decide which to let go from her tongue - the lie or the truth - another girl approaches, moving the way a moth flies, like the wind is the only thing she might pay attention to. Aster turns toward her, and when her antlers are mentioned she dips them in a stately bow. When she lifts her head again it’s to take in the other girl from the flowers in her hair to the marking on her shoulder.
“And if I had a moon like yours, I shouldn’t need a crown at all.” She almost reaches out to touch it with the barest glance of feathers. For now she keeps to herself, except for her gaze, which passes between them without an ounce of shyness. “Have you both come to dance?”
@kassandra @Elliana | what lovely ladies <3
