[P] steep hills of vicodin tears,

[Rhoswen]

A spectre railing within the moon's embrace, a girl they did not know - for all the months Rhoswen had spent here in the desert and the sand, still she felt a stranger to the inhabitants. The sun praised her, danced with her, sang her a lullaby her heart longed to hear, but the biblical warriors with their long stares and cold eyes lingered on in her dreams at the break of twilight. And she had turned away, tracing endless roads on a map tucked into her pocket, in hope of redemption. There was none, nothing out there in the wild except freedom, and that in itself was a fickle promise. What was freedom if you had no-one to share it with? So at last she had returned, with a tepid colour of fatigue woven between her ribs. Rhoswen was tired of running and finding emptiness; she was a creature carved from the volcanic mountainside, not one destined for woe; all this languish, this brooding, it was chipping away at her resolve until she was but a flint of hard cool stone. Sharpened and dormant. Rhoswen drew closer, the shadow of the great castle appearing through the darkness - imposing as ever. With Maxence gone the Court needed her now more than ever, and this time she had no intentions of absconding. 


@Raum i know it's TINY but i just wanted to get up a starter <3 am going easy on my muse!