Most days, most days stay the sole same
Please stay, for this fear it will not die
Down low, down amongst the thorn rows
Weeds grow, through the lilies and the vines
Please stay, for this fear it will not die
Down low, down amongst the thorn rows
Weeds grow, through the lilies and the vines
Well, you see, the Dale kinda sucks dick (Noori would know).
It’s been a good half-decade spent over in the green, green kingdom, but after endless time frolicking through long grasses, cool rivers, berry orchards and all things spring, Noori got bored.
Bored? You ask? Well, think about it this way. If you were a hair artist, the best in the world, ande you could only do one type of hairstyle or use one colour for dye, wouldn’t that be THE WORST?
Noori thinks so. She’s mastered the art of Spring. Fuck, she is the Spring. So why not go do something else? Why not go reunite with her dead not-dad who basically took her shattered, schizophrenic self and squished it all back together with quiet love and behind-the-scenes nurturing. None of this daughter-of-a-queen bullshit. Just nice, soft stuff.
So maybe that’s why she finds herself here again, smiling tearfully at a patch of sand that cannot be His favourite patch of sand by any stretch of the imagination, growing miniature cactus fruit plants all around her hooves like little crosses erected over graves.
Noori has always been a romantic, after all. And she’s definitely still a little insane; but that keeps things fun.
Right?
noori