[P] we could be beautiful without our war paint [fire]

[Elena]

Some girls are full of heartache and poetry

Forever, ages ago, when she had been blind, a child had found her, brought her to a festival and told her to dance. It had been so long since she had danced, but how could she now, when the world under her feet felt so strange. She feels him place something in her hair, she does not have to see to know it is a flower there. A lily, he says, and she smiles, and she danced, she danced in a place she has never seen, to music she has never heard, and sang in a silent voice. And then she went to somewhere quiet, where she thought she was alone, and it was only when the dancing stopped, that she wept until those eyes turned blue. 

She will always consider all of the different ways that a person can come apart and be put back together again.

She will always think of it as a strange kind of wonderful.

As bruising as it may be.

She cannot recall the last time she had come to Dawn. Elena remembers bringing her daughter here, when she had been so small and so new. She met with Po, told him she would come back soon, searched and searched that forest for her little girl until she found her all alone with secrets of ghosts and unicorns trapped in her chest. Maybe, maybe that was the last time she came to Dawn. 

It seems only fitting then that he would be one of the first faces she sees. 

The sight of him sends her into a story. About a boy who found her at a festival and picked a flower for her. About a boy who could send the entire world crumbling with a single rose. She is beside him, comes before as easily and as quietly as the caress of a spring breeze that finds itself weaving through Elena’s golden locks.

“Po,” she starts, abrupt. “Let’s run through the forest tonight, like we have never grown up.” Her voice was soft but steady; it wasn’t the voice of silver bells or wind chimes. Instead, it was the voice of canyons and eagles and the promise of adventure. She turns then away from him and points in the direction of the forest where childish laughter echoes. And she twists that golden face with an ivory heart upon her brow to look upon her friend of flowers. “Catch me if you can,” and with embers floating off her skin, she slips into the trees.

those are the kind of girls who try to save wolves

instead of running from them