Lady Courtaire
Wren, crouched in the treetops, waited, eyes fixed on the path below. Her fingers twitched against the warm wood of the shortbow clenched in her hand. Soon.
The heavy clink of armor, the heavy tread of metal-booted feet.
The best part of my day was coming home to you. Stupid, a cliche, but it's true - nothing else could make the slog worthwhile. And I realize now how unattractive that was to you. I should've wanted more. I should've had interests, hobbies, friends other than you - things we could talk about, things you could watch me strive for, succeed at. You can't make one person the single highlight of your life. I was a nothing. At least I'm not still wondering why you left.
Full of life, she was - bubbling over with it, in fact. There was never a room large enough to contain her laughter, never a man with a large enough heart to contain the whole of her being.
From the corner of my eye I catch the shimmer of iridescent blue cloth reflected in the mirrored walls, like the stunning sunlit flash of a blue morpho butterfly's ethereal sapphire wing.
"It's not...you don't look dead, exactly," she amended, all too diplomatically.
"I am, though," Worcast replied, flinching at the rusty grating of their own long-unused voice. "After a fashion."
"You're just...rather paler than I'm used to a person being. A living person, that is."
An echo of ominous laughter resounded within his skull. He bent all his will against the onslaught, then fell to his knees, reeling.
Not feminine, but definitely on the feline side. Something about the unconscious shimmy of the shoulders; the long, rangy torso; the way she slunk along the wall at the edge of the dance floor and hunched glowering in the corner like an ambush predator, hyperfocused and ready to pounce.