There is a flutter of motion from beyond the shield of palm leaves, drawing the mare’s eyes from the brilliant reflection of red-gold sunset flecked across the water in mosaic; she catches the scent of another, a mixture of desert heat and familiar femininity, so carefully disguised by clear water and fresh dates only moments before. A dainty, bird-boned commoner girl who strikes Seraphina as vaguely familiar stands in dark silhouette against the fiery apricot dream of the Oasis, the downy red-grey of her coat desaturated and darkened in the harsh shadows of dying light. (She imagines it would be like pale fire in the brilliant sunlight of the day.) She’s a pretty girl, Seraphina thinks, one of the many that she’s seen in the Court – in a way, she reminds her of the golden girl, Bexley. She wonders if this one has as much fight in her, for all the daintiness implied by her structure. (Where the light hits it, her hair gleams bloodred, and her eyes are like the sea before a storm, and there is, she thinks, a violence in that. Sand still clings to her flanks, sweat to her soft skin – she is fresh from the desert, and it has not been so long since the light has begun to fade.)
Seraphina’s odd eyes meet those of the girl with the eerie, aloof calm that seems omnipresent on her face. “It would seem so.” Her voice is lighter than usual; perhaps there is a hint of humor there? (She’s getting a bit better at socializing, she likes to hope, what with all of this new diplomacy and power that she’s stumbled into headfirst.) There might even be a ghost of a smile just barely twitching at the corner of her lips as she tosses her head, tugging the slickness of her mane off of her skin, and adds, “I don’t think I’ve ever caught your name, Miss…?” She was nothing if not polite.
@Rhoswen - <3
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
