The change in season meant a myriad of shifts for an entertainer like Vysanthe. Spring and summer were full of festivals, sunny picnics and twilight gatherings with lively song and dancing. The turn of seasons, with shorter days and earlier sunsets, meant her repertoire changed as well. Softly melancholic songs and wistful rhymes replaced the bright and humorous lyrics of warmer days, and stories were requested as often as song. The chill air also drove celebrations indoors, where her clients gathered around fireplaces and wrapped in woven blankets rather than dancing in forest clearings like fey things.
More inconvenient, however, was the change in foliage. More specifically, the withering of the flowers she typically found growing wild in abundance for her own self-ornamentation. Russet autumn leaves could make a temporary adornment, but lacked the pleasant smells of flowers. Before giving in to the inevitable and allowing the crown of her head to remain bare, however, Vy supplemented her ability to forage by patronizing a family-owned greenhouse and apothecary in the capitol.
Thus she found herself in the pleasant artificial warmth of the greenhouse’s glass walls, even as the slate-grey clouds hung above and a chill autumn wind blew through the streets. Sweet floral scents pressed in on the singer from every side to help cultivate a serene expression as she browsed, admiring small, delicate white roses and warm, ruddy poppies alike. An idea of what combination of blooms would work best had already begun to take shape in her mind, but simply enjoying the microcosm of false summertime was enough for the moment.
but listen carefully to the sound of your loneliness
