TORIELLE
It's only me who wants to wrap around your dreams
Like living poetry… Yes, that is a thought that I can wholeheartedly agree with. I tip my head in a polite nod, showing my support for the notion. Yes, the ocean as I have known her, even briefly, seems to fit that description as well as any I could have found in the archives of my home temple. The mare before me seems to be befuddled at my question of her spires, and for a moment I feel a bit embarrassed to have asked. Then, she answers. An heirloom she says, from her mother. My heart swells like the sea rushing to meet the two of us, climbing higher and higher. It is a noble thing to carry the lovingly crafted pieces of one’s family.
“The bells,” I lift my orbs slightly to the bone spires that hold them. “Those are items I’ve picked up along my travels, mostly from my homeland. The hair pieces, though,” I turn a bit so she might have a better look at them, the coloured glass twinkling their bright emerald green from their settings against the silver disks pressed into my braid. “The silver was crafted by my father.” My banner flicks behind me, and the trickle of silver there is drowned out by the sound of another wave breaking upon the shoreline. I turn the other way so that she might see the veil more fully. A breeze lifts the fiery locks slightly, and if she were to be paying attention, she might see the puckered pink flesh of my new scar peeking through before they settle against my neck once more. “The silk was woven by my mother. She told me she spent nearly a year completing the embroidery for me.”
I face the tide mare fully again, a smile on my features, though I know that it is tinged with a bit of sadness. I had not thought of my parents in a long time. I wonder briefly what they are doing now, and what they would think of their only daughter having gone to another existence entirely, that she may one day forget her heritage and all the customs of her people. I blink the sadness from my eyes before they can develope the familiar swell of tears in them. “They are gifts from my tribe,” I tell her, disappointed to hear my lyrics break over the last word.
She offers me her name in that same unsure tone as her hello and I chuckle, the warmth of the sun and her sincerity doing their best to soothe the homesickness in my chest. I roll it over my tongue, savoring the sweet taste. It is warm like the sun kissed sands that surround us, whispering secrets dusted in sugar and coloured glass. “Well met, Meira.” I dip my crown again, bowing a bit deeper than the first time, as I straighten I catch her eye. They are the same blue as the sea, and I am convinced though I hold no proof, that she is of her depths, and merely a visitor on land. One day she will return to those swirling depths, but they shall be warm waters that greet her on that day. I smile. “You may call me Torielle.”
art by the-day-of-shadow character by scapeh table by sunny
