MY SOUL IS AN EMPTY CAROUSEL AT SUNSET
Rhoswen wandered without purpose or design. At first she had sought to purge the troubles from her mind, harnessing the desert's scorching heat in attempt to cauterise the purpled wound that was her angst. It flared and flamed, gnawing at her bloodstream, and no matter how deep into the golden sandstrewn abyss she walked - it refused to heal. So now she took to Ruris instead, allowing her legs to trace a map unknown; following the archaic pattern of the sun as it rose, hung, and fell. Her oh-so grey eyes had turned to ash and stone where once there had been hurricanes, for she is lost again. Again - the word rolls bitterly across her tongue. Life seemed to relish in dealing the copper maiden difficult hands. Once a fallen angel in Denocte, now a mistress of deceit in Solterra. If Maxence unearthed the truth of her treachery there would be hell to pay, blood to be spilled. She knew he would come for her, and yet still she could not find it within herself to forsake Raum. For, although she was Solis' daughter through and through, there was no forgetting the origin of her birth - born not in daylight but under the magnetic cover of night. Her family were made of moondust and starfire - they knew nothing of the golden rhythm of her heart; it was a song they would never understand. A gust of summer wind tore across the sheltered creek as Rhoswen came to stand upon it's gentle banks, looking down into the heart of the river - looking, desperately, for answers.
A whisper is forgotten on the breeze: "What am I supposed to do?"
@mila short and sweet!
