08-05-2019, 10:10 AM
Holding the chain links of the swing, the little girl traveled higher and higher, bare legs rushing through the cool and crisp air, a wide grin laying over her soft pink lips. That blonde, almost snowy hair poured from her head, streaking behind her and then rushing past her dimpled cheeks. She is a frail and delicate child, like a little china doll or menagerie piece. Pale, sun kissed pink skin, brown, dirty bottomed feet from moving around the dirt and letting the mud soak between her toes. Earthy. Her parents watch her a little ways off, they study her wondering what she will become, their little wild child, and pray it isn't a tattooed and pierced groupie for some punk rock singer. Pumping her legs even more so, the little child let the wind rush into her lungs and sting her chest, and then, with a wild, jovial whoop, she thrust her body off of the swing, flying through the air with nothing constricting her. Nothing but gravity. It would be a hard fall. The kind of fall that knocked the wind out of you as you landed on your feet and crumpled to your knees, gasping for breath. The kind of fall that made you flop over to one side and then sprawl out on your back, struggling to regain your breath, and then a fit of giggles would erupt. It was a bright and beautiful childhood. Another fit of giggles would erupt as she leapt to her feet and let those bare legs carry her over to the slide. Her old white shorts that have long since been stained by grass and fun, and a t shirt with jelly stains from PB&J’s, are the only things she needed on her body, shoes were always optional. Hands flying to grasp the cool metal in her hands as she hoisted herself up the steps and closer to the edge, closer to the best, or second best, fall of her life. It is hot, the sun is bright, and Astana has never felt more at home in a place so strange. The precious metal her skin is made of reflects the sun, causing her to look as if she too glowed like the relentless daytime star overhead. She las left Nerine again, it would seem her adoptive herd would have more trouble keeping her feet from roaming than would appear. But, Heartfire was teaching Astana to be independent. To be independent— and that men cannot be trusted. The bob in her step is evident, those little knees lift high as she strolls around the meadow, hardly bothered by the sun. The heat to her is familiar, comfortable, it reminds her of her home. Astana is blissfully unaware of other’s discomfort by the hotter of seasons. She is young, she is beautiful, and she is happy. Why shouldn't she be? So caught up in her own utter bliss, the golden child does not see the boy wearing a scowl with eyes made of diamonds flecked with sapphire blue specks. Astana is far too loose with the term love, it has turned up meaningless in her heart. Her parent shad told each other they loved each other when they clearly did not. Each of their hearts belonging to someone else, but settling with each other because what else did they have? Astana knows she loves her twin, she knows she loves her parents, but she thinks, ponders, why can she not love all things and everyone? So she spots Malone up ahead and she is swept up in the rush of meeting someone new. But she hesitates. Men are not to be trusted. But, no, this wasn't a man. She ponders it a moment, staring at him. This was just a boy. “Your wings, they are wonderful,” she says when she is close enough. She blinks diamond eyes in his direction. She knows nothing about true lovers, passionate kisses, and midnight flings. He is beautiful, much too beautiful she thinks. And she remembers Calvin, a story her mother once told, who had been beautiful. Astana, ever the dreamer, had asked if he loved her. Keav had shaken her head sorely. ‘No, he had loved a stallion named Michael.’ And this boy, it makes Astana think, maybe he needed a Michael in his life and he could be happy too. “You look like you need some fun today.”
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@[Malone]