Pulta-Ragrwine
A grove of trees, twisting in the breeze
if not for thee, I'd never leave, please.
Leafy branches towering over the rest of the forest with
calm demeanor and
steady solemnity.
Resisting the face of the wind
in mortal glory.
All their livelihood was storied in the cyclical containers on the south of the property and the old farmer looked at them proudly. Without the grain, the cows wouldn't get fed; without the cows, the expenses of the farm would quickly overrun their vegetable profits, and without profits, they would lose their land.
One step into the forest. She took great care with her silence.
Another step.
A branch cracked somewhere and the woman's head jerked to follow it. Her lip curled and she sank deeper into the underbrush.
And he tripped over the loose shoelace; she caught the desperation in his eyes and paused.
A clever, not necessarily harmful girl.
She swept through the crowd with a sort of unearthly grace, capturing the eyes of the populace without a second thought. Unconsciously they followed her in her blue gown, feeding off the magic she trailed through her fingertips. And just like that, they were caught.
She stepped down the marble in her blue dress, a faint aqua train trailing after her like ocean mist. She could feel all the eyes of the opposite sex on her as she made her way into the middle of the room, but she raised her chin. She was above them. Above them all.