She doesn’t dare look him over, scared that he might note her inner turmoil., and vulnerability It’s a trick she long ago learned to prevent others from catching the small nuances that give away one’s thoughts. Don’t look over the other, and there will be no reactions for them to catch. It also prevents them from catching and holding a gaze. Though, she’s pretty sure that she feels his every now and again slide over her skin. As the hours slip by she loses a bit more of herself to the dark thoughts that roil over an over in her brain every waking hour.
They become cumbersome, make her feel dirty, and self-absorbed. If she’d just turn her attention elsewhere… But the world is so… insignificant. There isn’t much else to do other than reflect and ponder, occasionally taking up a task to break the monotony. She really knows how to pick em. The tasks she undertakes that is. Kingdoms, family, death. Yes, they do break the monotony. The crickets sing their praises to the moon, who leans in close soaking in the adoration offered to her. Her soft glow, pregnant nearly to bursting with the impending events that will unfold in the days to follow. She watches over the world tonight in rapt attention beckoning her children to gather close and listen as a new kingdom takes up the old standard and dedicates itself to the old ideals. They twinkle in their excitement, eagerly awaiting the mortal’s fates to unfold.
Turned to him, she often does refer to herself as a hag, as that is exactly what she is. She is old, she is dark, her soul twisted and ugly, full of scars, she has few, if any, morals. She isn’t loose with her body, but she certainly pimps out her intellect, which should be considered just as bad. Her scars that are healing, but still ugly to behold. It’s ironic that Scorch’s radiant beauty would be buried under the ugliness of her outer shell, while Hestia’s ugliness creeps in the shadows; leeching off the worlds suffering under a blanket of ageless satin.
If she had not been immortal, she’d be simple bones on the sands of the old world, bleached and crumbling to dust. Really nothing all that special. Beqanna would have folded her into itself and carried her to its nurturing breast in endless oblivion. Taking her from time and space, to be forgotten. But those are not the facts, and she is immortal and able to hide her secrets from prying eyes. Scorch is radiant within and it cloaks herself in a light that Hestia finds to be refreshing. Something to aspire to. Even if she doesn’t believe herself capable of achieving it. Those around seem to think she can, and because of that she tries. However, it doesn’t change the fact that she is inherently snobbish and selfish. Doing things only when she deems the world ready for her headstrong ideals.
She flicks her tail lazily the ocean breeze catching it and toying with it along with her mane and forelock. She’s taken on a wildness that matches that of the oceanic kingdom she resides in. No time to prim over her looks, the wind steals away any work she’s done to keep herself presentable. So, she gives up allowing the breeze control of her hair. He calls her special, it’s a word she’s never heard in context with herself and its odd to think of now. Impossible for her to dwell on, she brushes it aside to mule over another time. A time when she can brood and fuss and generally just grump over how untrue it must be. She does focus on his other words, fear you? I fear no one. Her lips thin, a moment passes. That came out a little to fast, the snark in her voice biting, aiming to prove that ‘special’ does not exist. But fearing no one? That is not entirely true. Maybe one she fears… even him she finds herself growing less afraid of even going as far as to search him out.
There’s a story for the grandchildren, Grandma’s gone to look for her murderer and invite him to live with us. Yup, hag. Who does that sort of thing? It’s not like she’s forgiven him, and she would love to see him dead. But then, he punishes himself quite enough for her enjoyment, that she can let the past just be bygones. But she wonders, could it really be this simple? Could he really have no ulterior motive for following her? Just simply that he found someone intriguing enough to follow. It would be…
She shakes out her mane closing her eyes in the process. Fluttering open she finally chooses to look him over deciding on what to do. A small part of her still wanting to incinerate him, the other kinda liked having someone close again. A selfish bit wanting to steal a few more moments of closeness. It’s been so very long… Before she begins walking again, this time towards the trail that will take them to the cozy caves along the cliffs on the beach. She murmurs, If you plan on staying you should probably know my name. I’m Hestia. Its then that she turns around, embarrassed with stinging pride at caving in this moment. What if he just walks away having gotten what he’d originally wanted in the first place. She doesn’t dare look to see if he’s there following her towards the trail, to afraid that her monsters threw one too many fits and succeeded in chasing him away.
HESTIA
The devil whispered in my ear, you’ll never survive the storm
I whispered back, I am the storm
@[Murc]
![[Image: 345k45w.jpg]](http://i65.tinypic.com/345k45w.jpg)