T H O M A S I N
The bird’s flamboyant nature couldn’t help but draw a content smile on Thomasin’s small mouth. She would give the swan a nod at his declaration of princesses and bakers being of the same thread, choosing not to challenge his views on her, instead a quiet indifference. His feather sword would at best, tickle her giggle-spot, and allow another choral of laughter to leave her lips.
“Oh, I’m sure I would believe you. I’ve had quite the spell of unbelief lately – “ she drawls, gaze again downcast at the newly acquired knowledge of the dead being able to still walk the earth. Her fairytales had at least prepared her for talking animals – but of monsters? Of shadows and life-robbing immortals?
She knew not how to handle a rabbit willingly crawling into the mouth of the wolf.
Thomasin would lift her head, dismissing the imagery in her imagination like swatting away wisps of smoke. Her overcast eyes would settle on the swan, Odile, and how every word that was announced from his beak was full of whimsy and compassion. He offered to assist her, to be her knight-in-white, and deliver her from this befuddling predicament.
I wish to be strong enough to save myself.
“Of course, Odile. I would be honored to have an escort.” A bitter-sweet smile, and a small nudge of her nose against his soft head, would encourage the dryad to lift herself from the frosty floor, shake herself off, and give him a confident nod. “I’m in search of a manor, rumored to house-“ she paused, realizing the mistake in her words, the catch in her step. Perhaps it was best not to announce the presence of a vampire. What if they wished to steal her away? “House De'Chrys, it might be called. I’m not sure who all takes residence there. If you could help, please, lead the way. Although – “, she hesitated, her brow knitting as she digested his strange request.
“Why does a swan seek the companionship of a stallion?”
Not that Thomasin knew many men – her father was a very handsome man, strong in his faith and stature, but she wasn’t sure what the fowl would need him for. And he especially wasn't single. Thomasin was not one for usually keeping the company of studs, finding herself uncomfortable and unsure of how to communicate with them. She assumed that most of them blubbered on about warfare and battle, seeing who had the greatest feat amongst themselves, bragging about their wives like valuable treasures. They tended to be loud, too barbarous, and care little for baked goods – most of them, at least.
Thomasin was not made for the likes of men, that she knew was certain.
But a strong woman? She had met quite a few. Elusive and feather-light, the wind tangling their hair with delight, either a slice of the moon or a dagger in their smiles.
One with hungry eyes.
As she awaited their journey to begin she found herself returning to the daydream of the rabbit making a bed in the mouth of its hunter.
"talking."
tagged: @Odile
