Romantica
Romantica moves when he bids her closer. Usually when a man used those same words, there was a hidden malice beneath the honey on their tongue but Romy sees the man as an open book (perhaps a naive fault of her own?) There is a sadness in the depths of his eyes and he wears an unseen weight around his neck. It hangs upon the slop of his shoulders and the haunt of a smile he attempts to wear.
A broken soul.
Romy can see the splinters just beyond the handsome mask he wears but she would not dare pick at the edges. It felt good to simply be acknowledged by a kind voice and honest eyes. The dappled mare reflects a smile upon her features as she takes tentative steps closer, her pale hair in her eyes. There is an innocence in her eyes despite that she is not a child. Romy holds to a time of warmth and welcoming where darkness has once been. She is careful not to mingle amongst the wicked.
"My name is Romantica...Romy..." Her voice is lifted and light as she offers her name. She had once been warmed of giving it for it was believed it should be asked lest another hold a power over you but Romy is a ind mare, trusting and soft. She liked the company of the grey stallion for he saw her standing there in her plainness. She wanted to ask his name but hesitates for being perceived as rude and would allow him to make the choice to offer it.
Romy notices her drifts, not in a blatant way, but she can see something is working in his brain. It draws her closer in the natural urge to hold him but that would be perceived as being far too forward and intrusive but perhaps in time she may come to know and understand the man...but for now she stands quietly in her girlish mannerisms, smiling and looking to him with openness upon her features.