the bitterness of winter or the sweetness of spring
you are an artist and your heart is your masterpiece
The keep was busier than usual tonight – a soft, silk-like mist blanketed the grounds in some sort of winter magic. Families and loved ones mingled in the courtyard, a few strangers kept to the edges; perhaps to simply offer their prayers before moving along to their scheduled routines. Thomasin was akin to them: a wall-flower, happy to blend into the background and not be noticed. She had finished her daily offering to Caligo, worshiped with a choir of citizens who chose to join her in song, before making her way out of the keep’s fortress.
She wore her hair long today, and on either side of her neck, hoping the heavy mass of hickory and blonde waves would, in duality, shield her displayed heart from the cold and prying eyes. The capital was decorated with a variety of faces, and instead of rushing off to open her eatery, the lamb lingered; a dusty ghost hanging out in the corner with the cobwebs. She watched with eager, yet sad, gray eyes. Children played in the flurries of snow that had begun to fall. A soft pain tickled Thomasin’s heart as she watched a mother tend to her babies. Would that ever be in her future?
Thomasin and her daydreams were interrupted as she heard footsteps grow near to her. Her face turned and she watched a woman walk towards her. Perhaps Thomasin had seen her before, maybe in passing, but tonight she was alien to her. The lamb watched in admiration as this stranger dipped her head so gracefully at each passerby, with milky hair spilling against the contrast of her dark, swan-like neck. Her face was a color that rivaled the moon. Her posture was tall and correct, with every greeting she seemed to grab the attention of another.
She must be important.
Thomasin mused to herself, tucked her chin into her chest, trying to make herself seem even smaller than before. The more diminutive and unimportant she could make herself, the more likely she won’t have to speak to her. Alas, the midnight dame was making her way towards her, and spoke a gentle but curt greeting.
“Me?” Thomasin asked quietly, almost a whisper, in disbelief, turning her face to either side of her, checking behind her; surely there must be someone else she was speaking to. But in quiet horror, Thomasin realizes she has embarrassed herself by being so naïve.
“Oh, curses. Forgive me. I promise I’m not usually so unaware of my surroundings.” Liar. She chuckled nervously, sweeping her tail out of the way, bending her head lower to show her respect. “Good evening, miss.”
The awkward silence that began to stretch was making Thomasin go mad. She had to fill silence, even if it was with nervous prattle. “Are you on your way to praise Caligo? Or perhaps I’ve interrupted your way to the markets?” Her gaze flittered around, sporadic, content to look at the ground, but every once in a while, brave enough to make eye-contact with the stranger. She was doubtful she could save this encounter, and before she even had the chance to make a decent impression, Thomasin felt like she had sabotaged herself.
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"talking." thinking.
tagged: @Yvtala
music tonight: X
