04-28-2025, 07:23 PM
She dozes most often in holes left by animals who forage for the summer, curling her small body into the grooves the bears and badgers left behind as she settles into her own lonesome slumber. With her thumb gently covering the button of time, Lillia feels moons slipping by in seconds, watches its silvery face waxing and waning to the rhythm of her slow, dormant breath. In winter months when the animals return for their own sleep, the would-be predators soften at the embrace of Lillia's angelic aura. More often than not, the beasts, stinking of sweat and excess, make room for themselves alongside the angel. Lillia smiles in her suspended dream state during those months. When she twitches and wriggles, she enjoys the warmth and comfort of the unsentient beings who flock around her.
Today, a summer storm brews on the horizon, and Lillia slows the speed of her temporal cycling to admire the burgeoning clouds. Dark grey and pregnant with rain. As the first roll of thunder echoes into this land in which she loiters, her skin erupts in goose-prickles, further jostling her from her sleep. A lovely storm, she muses, her first clear thought in years. I wouldn't mind watching.
With an enormous exhale entirely disproportionate to her small frame, Lillia tenses all her muscles and feels her pale pink skin stretching and moving with a great stiffness, though not one she bemoans. She welcomes the pains of awakening, blinking her pale blue eyes against the "light" of the incoming storm. As her nostrils begin to flutter to pick up the fresh scent of the incoming storm, the wind sweeps up her mane and forelock in a frenzy, masking her vision as a similarly pale mare makes her unknowing approach.
"Oh," Lillia breathes, her voice, though unused, its usual high-pitched lilt. "Hello there!" She speaks the word to the white, horse-shaped entity before her, laying as she is with all four of her legs stretched at odd angles, neck streeetching and nose quivering, eyes upturned beneath a haze of tangled hair. Lillia flutters her wings to wake them up from a numbing sleep. "I hope you don't mind my making nice with the beasts of your land. They have such comfortable burrows..."
Today, a summer storm brews on the horizon, and Lillia slows the speed of her temporal cycling to admire the burgeoning clouds. Dark grey and pregnant with rain. As the first roll of thunder echoes into this land in which she loiters, her skin erupts in goose-prickles, further jostling her from her sleep. A lovely storm, she muses, her first clear thought in years. I wouldn't mind watching.
With an enormous exhale entirely disproportionate to her small frame, Lillia tenses all her muscles and feels her pale pink skin stretching and moving with a great stiffness, though not one she bemoans. She welcomes the pains of awakening, blinking her pale blue eyes against the "light" of the incoming storm. As her nostrils begin to flutter to pick up the fresh scent of the incoming storm, the wind sweeps up her mane and forelock in a frenzy, masking her vision as a similarly pale mare makes her unknowing approach.
"Oh," Lillia breathes, her voice, though unused, its usual high-pitched lilt. "Hello there!" She speaks the word to the white, horse-shaped entity before her, laying as she is with all four of her legs stretched at odd angles, neck streeetching and nose quivering, eyes upturned beneath a haze of tangled hair. Lillia flutters her wings to wake them up from a numbing sleep. "I hope you don't mind my making nice with the beasts of your land. They have such comfortable burrows..."