IP: 120.149.119.230
Posted on February 6, 2015 at 07:11:12 AM by e d e n
how long will we blame the devils on our shoulders
What she is used to? How intriguing, for it is but the implication that she is used to being so very alone - or at least, playing alone. That is strange in itself, for even the loners of Moladion often seem to have blood relations to fall back onto or some kind of group to flock to in times of hunger or need. So, I cannot help but pause at the thought of somebody believing themselves to be entirely alone. Even I am not alone despite my distance. The idea seems almost foreign. I dismiss it for the time being, merely putting the thought aside for a later mention. After all, it is valuable knowledge even if it does not appear to be as such. A wolf without connections is a clean slate, a being not yet corrupted by the prejudices and preconceived ideals of others.
There is a moment of uncertainty as I step towards her, but she is quick to pull down her inner defenses it seems. At least, the air between the two of us returns to something more amiable - still, I am never truly relaxed. There is always a bubbling, an itch, just beneath the surface of my skin. It is a tension all of my own.
"The wind is fickle. Why not make your own choices?"
I ask her plainly as I come before her once more, taking a position across from her before I lower to be seated. A short distance spans between us, though I am close enough now to see the intricacies of her features. She is not like any other I have seen before; or at least, she is not of old blood. All of these are important factors, at least to me. I am not content to mingle with those that would otherwise fall into order, a habit often seen within those linked to families that span generations here. Take any heir or distant cousin and they will speak as if they have achieved something merely by their relation to somebody others consider grand. New blood, new minds, that is what is important. That is why I sit across from her, carefully watching her face and eyes for the flicker of judgement or fear. I want to observe her so very deeply.
"Here today, gone tomorrow. That is what they say. Do you not fear that?"
I tilt my head slowly, my brow creeping up my forehead in question. Her words are echoed back at her, the cadence of her voice vaguely imitated. I understand such words may appear harrowing, and as such, the corner of my lip turns up ever so slightly into a grin - an effort to warm the chill of their implication. I do not mean such a thing cruelly. After all, I merely wish to know why she lives so... carelessly, I suppose is the word one would use. To merely follow the wind? After all, the winds are not always so kind.