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She watched him, curious as to whether or not he would answer her. Maybe he hadn’t heard. Or maybe he was mute, like Mew. Or maybe still, he didn’t speak her language. She shifted from hoof to hoof while waiting. No, my dear, she knows all too well the horrors life has in store for those who were once innocent. She had lived through many of them in her short few years, yet she strives to hold onto the magic that envelops the youth; that makes them see mermaids and fairy-tales. For without it, she knows that she will crumble away and be lost to the world forever. When he speaks, his words are sad, and the woman-girl stares for another moment, unsure how to handle it. What would any other grown up do? Her nose wrinkles in concentration, but in the end, all she can do is take a tiny step forward and reach out her muzzle in an attempt to brush it against his shoulder. She exhales softly, a breath of dreams and sunflowers, for that is what the girl is made of, I am sure of it. She is made of dreams and happiness, and all she can hope to do is uplift the world a little at a time. It offsets the darkness she has endured. She looked up at him, into his dark eyes, and she knew what he was feeling – it was the same thing when Mew died. She had walked around broken, trying to do good deeds to bring him back; but that was not the way the world worked. But still, she had tried, and perhaps…perhaps she is still trying to find forgiveness for it. The silver child looks at him and feels a strange connection. They were the same, no matter how different. ”That can’t be true. There are miracles every day. Like the sun rising, and flowers blooming, and rain on a hot day.” She was struggling to find “grown up” things to say, so reverted to the things she knew. ”Like the time when something awful should have happened to you, but you were saved at just the right moment. I had that happen – a siren tried to drown me, but my friend showed up and scared her away. Miracles are everywhere.” She was almost speaking in earnest, trying to get him to believe. She didn’t want him to be sad; to hurt. She didn’t even know his name, but she knew his pain. She knew the burden of guilt. Softly, she responded to his sadness: ”Can I help you?” It was so quietly spoken, if he wasn’t paying attention, he may question if she even spoke at all, but if he looked at her, he would see the hopeful look in her button eyes, a true desire to help someone who was wounded, whether emotionally or physically. She wanted to do something good. ”Speech” |
 | Silver chain from the pirate siren | Blue Macaw feather in mane | |
@Voltaire
