Play is funny to Cinder. With ehr, the play never stops. She’s brilliant and strange and tortured in that way. Her mind is always running, a clock that’s always ticking. Always awake, always ready, always on the edge of something more brilliant. Brillianter? That’s not a word. She’s still working out things like that, and it’s not a bad idea. No ideas are bad ideas. She can’t help that. A ticking clock, a ticking bomb-- no, not quite that. Different. Always different. Breathe in, breathe out. Trying to steady herself, trying to put her head back together for a long moment. Right. Spring was here. They’d call it spring fever, or something like that.
Her family would come back for her eventually. In the meantime? Why not enjoy it. Why not romp through the tall spring grass and enjoy life as it was coming to her. As it was given to her. She’s high on it-- high on life. High on the fact that she’s young and wild and free. That’s all it takes. Young and wild and free. Breathe in, breathe out, remember that you’re alive. That’s all Cinder needed, right? She’d never be able to make up her mind about anything, but that’s beside the point. All that matters right now is the young and wild and free bit, she’d worry about the rest later.
cinder
she wears trouble like a crown |