Delumine was soft.
Whenever she passed through the lands of Dawn, she felt as though she was shedding the harshness of Solterra like a second skin - awkward and strange even when she wasn’t trespassing in search of a relic, like worn sandpaper in a sea of lush velvet. Life crept through every nook and cranny of these lands, undeterred by cruel weather and heat, and allowed to them grow and flourish and become beautiful. It felt new and ancient all at once, like a fragile creature existing just outside of a merciless world – but, then, Dawn was the first part of each day and peaceful, frail, and ephemeral as the bloodred poppies crushed beneath her hooves with each cautious step that propelled her further into foreign territory. Seraphina felt unpleasant here, as though she were more of a violation or an inkblot than in any other land she’d trespassed in. The Illuster was, after all, the pride and joy of Delumine, and each pace further into dew-ridden flowers, scent hanging sticky-sweet in the air around her, reminded her that she did not belong.
The creature that she spotted just a ways in front of her, however, felt far more foreign to this delicate landscape than she; he seemed to be stitched from two different creatures, a riddled mesh of comforting brown, nauseating green, and discolored bruise. This was a man dressed in the trappings of war, she decided, perhaps more scar than flesh and constantly oozing. A more delicate individual might have been horrified, but Seraphina was far from delicate – if she felt anything at the sight of him, it was firm and distinct admiration that he remained standing. She was a warrior, and she was far from unaccustomed to the sight of men such as him. (They did not often get up.)
She eyed him cautiously, surmising that any creature that had retained those wounds was more likely a danger than not. She also assumed that most creatures that were serious threats would not be wandering around with a full line of songbirds clinging to their frame. How had they gotten on him in the first place? Why did they remain? It was an odd contrast, seeing such small, fragile creatures perched on the shoulders of someone so far detached from their own delicacy. Seraphina supposed that she was obligated to offer some sort of greeting, and she was, admittedly, a bit curious about this stranger besides. (As she was most aged warriors; she could only assume that he was one, anyways.) “Hello?” She offered reluctantly, voice raised above the melody of birdsong that was evident even from her distance away.
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
