11-17-2021, 05:41 PM
LILLIBET
a star burning with the
light of a thousand suns
light of a thousand suns
The stranger who comes through the crimson sumacs, thin and angular and dusted with gold, is no one Lillibet had happened upon yet in her wanderings. Though she and her family have not been in the golden forest for that long - a few months, perhaps - she's intrigued by the sudden realization that there are still strangers hidden in the depths of their home. The young stallion's inquiry is demanding and rushed, though this is neither offputting or offensive to the young woman who snorts at the idea of practiced diplomacy. Instead, his curiosity is met with a coy grin and a roll of her lithe ivory shoulders.
“Sylva's Princess,” she tells him plainly. She'd never spoken the title outloud save for in moments of jest with Link, but it feels fitting now to joke about the weight of it. She was not anything to be crafted into a leader - her parents knew full well that her desire to rule was next to nil, but there could be benefits to throwing her own lineage around, she was quite sure. “And do you have a name, Protector of the Creek?” She sidesteps at his request, as difficult as she may be she's never quite rude, and shivers against the chill of the Sylvan winter.
Her small hooves find their footing on the decline toward the creekbank as she settless comfortably beneath a particularly dense clusters of gold-leaved boughs, her ethereal glow bouncing white light all around her. “Lillibet,” she tells him finally, before flicking her amber eyes back in his direction with curiosity.
“Sylva's Princess,” she tells him plainly. She'd never spoken the title outloud save for in moments of jest with Link, but it feels fitting now to joke about the weight of it. She was not anything to be crafted into a leader - her parents knew full well that her desire to rule was next to nil, but there could be benefits to throwing her own lineage around, she was quite sure. “And do you have a name, Protector of the Creek?” She sidesteps at his request, as difficult as she may be she's never quite rude, and shivers against the chill of the Sylvan winter.
Her small hooves find their footing on the decline toward the creekbank as she settless comfortably beneath a particularly dense clusters of gold-leaved boughs, her ethereal glow bouncing white light all around her. “Lillibet,” she tells him finally, before flicking her amber eyes back in his direction with curiosity.