[open] wednesday my empty arms were open

[Kensa]

for every tyrant, a tear for the vulnerable
in every lost soul, the bones of a miracle

We never turn out the way we expect to. The pictures children color of how things will be are always one dimensional, lacking the shading of experience, the depth of secrets and hurts that that form the tapestry of real life. We are broken and rebroken from birth, healing to shatter over and over and then be reformed into something stronger, better, twisted from that first perfect thing into something beautiful but never fully understandable. There is always beauty, even if it isn’t apparent, or isn’t what we expected.

She doesn’t have a reason for coming down out of Hyaline. Like all wild things she has a habit of roaming and this time it has taken her beyond her carefully maintained scent markers and down into the forest. She doesn’t follow the river, but delves into the blue-green shadows scented of pine and hardwood without worrying about landmarks of any kind. Her sense of direction is keen and to her knowledge nothing could keep her from finding her way back to Hyaline short of death itself. 

There is no fear in her. Plague has already settled into her body and they are old friends, she has stopped getting worse. Kensa’s liver chestnut pelt has thinned, and her ribs ripple beneath her hide. She’s lost some of her stockiness but isn’t too lean to hold onto her taut curves. Weakness had set in at first, and malaise kept her home. Now she rattles and coughs, tires, but remains indomitable. Anyone else out here is either sick already or not afraid to be and so she did not worry herself about the risk of making someone else ill. 

These little hardenings of her heart could be called a symptom of her infection. Maybe that’s what her lover and friends believe. Kensa tries to keep this new dimension of her personality to herself while simultaneously craving the ballast of being a little fiercer. 

Deep among the cool shadows of the trees she slows herself to a stop, green ferns curled and brushing against her stockinged legs. From among the forest sounds she gathers the movements of another, but doesn’t announce herself or demand that they do so. It is midday, summer, and she is not so easy with her smiles these days. She breathes in, and her heart beats a hungry drumbeat for something she cannot name.

kensa

for every dreamer, a dream. we're unstoppable with something to believe in.

OOC: Kensa is prowling I'd like for her to meet up with someone a little darker, my good girl needs a bad boy or girl for a secret lover.