Despite the way she flutters those long, feminine lashes of hers, Astana is entirely unaware of her own beauty. She grew up surrounded by a beautiful family, her father’s golden skin, her mother’s coat that reflected the night sky, and her sister’s eyes made of sapphire. To her, they were the most beautiful creations that existed. Except, perhaps, the boy that stands in front of her now, with starry cheeks and eyes that captivate her like a moth dancing around a porch light on a summer’s night. If she knew she could capture Malone’s attention, then maybe, Astana would think herself pretty, beautiful even, but Astana, for now, is content to just dream that stars have kissed him when he wasn't looking and wondering if they may plant a kiss upon her cheek one night too.
“You are perfect,” is all she says in response before the attention returns to herself. “I think I look kind of like my sister,” she says before lowering her voice. “She’s my twin,” says Astana, as if Etoile were a secret that only Astana knew about. In truth, Astana too was a combination of both her parents. The golden skin given by her father, but the paleness of it was brought by her mother. Her eyes of diamond, her father’s, but that reckless grin that tips the corners of her lips upwards was her mother’s grin through and through.
Her touch is so quiet and brief that she does not feel the burn of blushing beneath her delicate muzzle and if she did, she would just have thought she imagined it as the warm glow of the stars against her skin. She laughs along side him (she is not entirely sure why they are laughing, but she does love the sound of it), tossing her small head into the blue skies, hair flowing against the clouds. She wonders if the yellow-faced sun laughs with them, or if he is resilient as he is bright to humor.
Heartfire would call her foolish for allowing him so close to her. The lithe girl though could hardly see the harm and is far too captivated with the strange boy with remnants of star kisses on his skin. “That sounds like fun!” She says with a grin. Astana fails to mention that she is impressed with how Malone seems so unafraid to wade out into the ocean. “I have not heard of Loess,” she admits, growing ever more curious, that wanderlust in her blood stacking upon top of each other until it reaches behind her sparkling eyes of diamond.
“Will you stay with me, in case I get scared?” She asks him, peering up at him, for even though their ages were similar, Astana was small, would always be smaller, growing to be shorter than each of her parents. Astana has always been unafraid to admit her emotions, her heart, like her mother’s, was worn upon her sleeve. And, even if it were not, those jewels for eyes hardly worked to grow coy or to hide her feelings away. They are as blatant upon her golden face as the sun against its cerulean back drop.
He touches her cheek and she leans into him, Astana always a glutton for affection and physical touch, whether it be from a friend or a lover, the golden filly hardly shirked away from contact with another. His words are enough for her, and she promises there and then to love him entirely, just as she has with Kildare, Torryn, Heartfire. Astana has always been too generous when it comes to matters of the heart. “Lead the way, Malone,” Astana says, promising to follow him.
@[Malone]
“You are perfect,” is all she says in response before the attention returns to herself. “I think I look kind of like my sister,” she says before lowering her voice. “She’s my twin,” says Astana, as if Etoile were a secret that only Astana knew about. In truth, Astana too was a combination of both her parents. The golden skin given by her father, but the paleness of it was brought by her mother. Her eyes of diamond, her father’s, but that reckless grin that tips the corners of her lips upwards was her mother’s grin through and through.
Her touch is so quiet and brief that she does not feel the burn of blushing beneath her delicate muzzle and if she did, she would just have thought she imagined it as the warm glow of the stars against her skin. She laughs along side him (she is not entirely sure why they are laughing, but she does love the sound of it), tossing her small head into the blue skies, hair flowing against the clouds. She wonders if the yellow-faced sun laughs with them, or if he is resilient as he is bright to humor.
Heartfire would call her foolish for allowing him so close to her. The lithe girl though could hardly see the harm and is far too captivated with the strange boy with remnants of star kisses on his skin. “That sounds like fun!” She says with a grin. Astana fails to mention that she is impressed with how Malone seems so unafraid to wade out into the ocean. “I have not heard of Loess,” she admits, growing ever more curious, that wanderlust in her blood stacking upon top of each other until it reaches behind her sparkling eyes of diamond.
“Will you stay with me, in case I get scared?” She asks him, peering up at him, for even though their ages were similar, Astana was small, would always be smaller, growing to be shorter than each of her parents. Astana has always been unafraid to admit her emotions, her heart, like her mother’s, was worn upon her sleeve. And, even if it were not, those jewels for eyes hardly worked to grow coy or to hide her feelings away. They are as blatant upon her golden face as the sun against its cerulean back drop.
He touches her cheek and she leans into him, Astana always a glutton for affection and physical touch, whether it be from a friend or a lover, the golden filly hardly shirked away from contact with another. His words are enough for her, and she promises there and then to love him entirely, just as she has with Kildare, Torryn, Heartfire. Astana has always been too generous when it comes to matters of the heart. “Lead the way, Malone,” Astana says, promising to follow him.
@[Malone]