[private] here come the smolder

[Tangled]

— I’ve been falling through the dream-mine and I'm hoping at the bottom
all the mountains of coins I've thrown have bought the wish I cast them for —

The sun is setting in the distance, but she does not pay it much attention.
The colors were all strange and warped, muted where she knows they are supposed to be vibrant. She knows, only because her sister used to tell her; Flower had always loved to describe the full beauty of their world to her, to paint her a better canvas than what her eyes showed her.

But when Tangled is alone, she does not let herself think too much about the colors. She can look at something and know it is lovely, no matter what color her eyes tell her it is.

Like him.

He is dark against the grass, with a peculiar glow that radiated from his skin. There are objects nestled in his mane, and it reminds her of the delicate flowers scattered throughout her red hair, but she does not think his are flowers.

She is drawn to him like a magnet, letting herself be pulled towards him by some strange gravity she was not familiar with. She almost wishes Flower were here, to find the words to adequately describe the color of his skin and the shells – she can see that now, they are seashells – that are tangled in his hair.

But there is also a small part of her that is secretly delighted to have this one treasure all to herself.

“The meadow,” she answers for him even though he is not asking her, and there is a smile on her face when his eyes lift to the seafoam green of hers. “Where did you get the shells in your mane?” She asks him, and unthinking, she reaches out to touch one with her red nose, mindful of the tines of her antlers.

Tangled

@[Eugene]