So tell me why my Gods look like you?
Nereza tries not to laugh, but a loud snort betrays her when giant dandelions start springing up around them in haste—they begin to morph from yellow to cottonball-white, and when a breeze blows through, their clocks take flight. Rather than continue in such a state, the seeds turn to red rose petals, and she finds herself admiring them, albeit absentmindedly, while they billow down around them. “A rose, when left to grow wild and unchecked, is simply a pretty weed with nasty thorns. I’ve played with flowers long enough to know that,” she offers, her wings subtly shifting position.
The spotted mare fights the urge to grit her teeth; she hates becoming overly aware of her wings, unsure of what to do with them or what position they should be in. They don’t feel comfortable anymore, they won’t until she finds something to take her mind off it, and so she settles on trying to just stop. They rustle slightly again.
“I spend my time wandering around with nothing and no one,” Nereza shrugs, her roses shrinking and sliding back down into the dirt and the moss. As if they’d never been there at all. “What right do I have to say you’re doing poorly?”
“No one?!” The ghostly imp hisses from the ether, though he chooses not to reappear and won’t for at least a fortnight this time. As he tends to do whenever she says something that upsets him.
“I don’t suppose your offer to go to Nerine still stands?” She asks, cocking her head. “I think I’ve sated my wanderlust enough for a decade, at least.”
The spotted mare fights the urge to grit her teeth; she hates becoming overly aware of her wings, unsure of what to do with them or what position they should be in. They don’t feel comfortable anymore, they won’t until she finds something to take her mind off it, and so she settles on trying to just stop. They rustle slightly again.
“I spend my time wandering around with nothing and no one,” Nereza shrugs, her roses shrinking and sliding back down into the dirt and the moss. As if they’d never been there at all. “What right do I have to say you’re doing poorly?”
“No one?!” The ghostly imp hisses from the ether, though he chooses not to reappear and won’t for at least a fortnight this time. As he tends to do whenever she says something that upsets him.
“I don’t suppose your offer to go to Nerine still stands?” She asks, cocking her head. “I think I’ve sated my wanderlust enough for a decade, at least.”
@Reave