Mesnyi
S
he nodded politely at his grin, or not-so-politely, it bordered on curt but the nature of her hair clouded about her intention. Mesnyi preferred it that way. He laughed at her question; she supposed it was certainly true that most people did not know their purpose. Or perhaps their purpose was getting through the day, the week, the month - survival, ultimately, whether it be emotional or physical. Hunger or sadness dogged them, or both, and that was what it meant to live. She called performing her purpose, but that was in the smaller sense, the tiny thing that cast a large shadow. Her true purpose was amorphous, changing, mysterious, nonexistent. Often it was short-term: companionship, gold, dinner. Escape.”Maybe you could tell me,” he said, and came closer, but she only smiled. ”Is this all you play?”
The violin rose up and down a scale impatiently. ”I am no oracle,” she said, ”for all the cards I’ve told. But, no, I play several instruments, and dance, and sing, of course. A woman of the arts, if you appreciate such things. A gypsy, if you don’t.” The glass bow danced along the strings as he observed it. ”I imagine you might be a man of many talents. Is it so?” She watched Daniel closely, allowing the violin to whisper quietly to him.
"speaks" | notes: ☽☼☾
"You see, women are like fires, like flames. Some women are like candles, bright and friendly. Some are like single sparks, or embers, like fireflies for chasing on summer nights. Some are like campfires, all light and heat for a night and willing to be left after. Some women are like hearthfires, not much to look at but underneath they are all warm red coal that burns a long, long while."
![[Image: 26y3cfu.png]](https://i.imgur.com/26y3cfu.png)
plotter
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