11-27-2020, 09:41 PM
The thunderstorms called to her because they remind her of the overwhelming emotions she can't ever seem to control. Loud claps and sizzling strikes are the exact embodiment of the inflation in her chest. Wild, untameable, dangerous.
Mother often told her not to go running through the storms, or go running anywhere; but there was hardly any discipline behind the chiding, and they always felt more like gentle suggestions than hard rules (and even if Galadriel knew such a thing as a hard rule, she wouldn't know how to follow it - she'd almost certainly scream at it). So, when the thunderstorms clapped a beat, Galadriel danced. The feral, sharp-tongued child danced like a wild thing, both mimicking nature in it's elegance and war in its violence.
The living embodiment of a thunderstorm.
Crowns thinks her pale and pretty (and she is, so deceptively delicate), but the frothing at her mouth and lightning in her eyes speak of something entirely different. A near monster. Bucking and flailing and squealing at the sky so eager to provide her music.
Galadriel doesn't see Crowns, can't sense him without her sight. He does startle her, forcing her rabid dance to come to end. All four of her legs stand still and straight, her wide and dark eyes glowing blank in shock. Boo! The girl jumps back, immediately finding the sour look she so often carries.
"Boo!" she screeches back, bristling. "What'd you do that for?" the question comes as a yell, a warning sign for a fit she might throw. She's furious.
@[crowns]
Mother often told her not to go running through the storms, or go running anywhere; but there was hardly any discipline behind the chiding, and they always felt more like gentle suggestions than hard rules (and even if Galadriel knew such a thing as a hard rule, she wouldn't know how to follow it - she'd almost certainly scream at it). So, when the thunderstorms clapped a beat, Galadriel danced. The feral, sharp-tongued child danced like a wild thing, both mimicking nature in it's elegance and war in its violence.
The living embodiment of a thunderstorm.
Crowns thinks her pale and pretty (and she is, so deceptively delicate), but the frothing at her mouth and lightning in her eyes speak of something entirely different. A near monster. Bucking and flailing and squealing at the sky so eager to provide her music.
Galadriel doesn't see Crowns, can't sense him without her sight. He does startle her, forcing her rabid dance to come to end. All four of her legs stand still and straight, her wide and dark eyes glowing blank in shock. Boo! The girl jumps back, immediately finding the sour look she so often carries.
"Boo!" she screeches back, bristling. "What'd you do that for?" the question comes as a yell, a warning sign for a fit she might throw. She's furious.
@[crowns]