i'm a geyser, feel it bubbling from below
hear it call, hear it call, hear it call to me, constantly
Despair plagues Brunhilde’s father as he makes the trek up to their secret hideaway. Kensa’s newly reclusive nature tells him that it is almost time - his path to their meadow well-worn from quietly checking on her daily. He has grown to expect her pacing quietly or napping beneath a tree, but this time is different. The tension that has built just beneath his surface finally pops: long, pale legs bursting into a hardly contained canter.
There’s a tiny, bright, spindly thing wobbling to and fro beneath her mother. The Primarch swallows, forgetting his partner (for once) and rushing to inspect their little creation.
That is Brunhilde’s first memory of her father: wide and frightened eyes followed by a sweet caress. The filly haphazardly swings her head to look at her mother again, an instinctual imprint beginning to form before she stumbles and falls ungracefully on her bum. The squeal her thud creates is followed by a sneeze that shoots out half a foot of flame - her little golden eyes twinkle in delight. The flame-girl giggles just as her father murmurs finitely and stupidly, “What in the hell . . .”
One could define Hildy’s next noise as another squeak, but to close ears it is a scream of delight, high-pitched and ever playful. The flame lurches upward, tumbling headfirst into the grass then joyously rolling onto her back. Two tiny fires burn in her nostrils as she stares up at her bewildered father (who would be raising an eyebrow if he had one). The cremello turns to look at Kensa, uttering something the newborn has yet to understand. Suddenly, the ombre babe rolls to her feet and begins running in circles, repeating her father:
“Hell! Hell, hell, hell, hell!”
Litotes gawks at Kensa before sputtering; ultimately he fails to form a single word. Brunhilde is beginning to grow tired when a butterfly lands on her nose. She stops with a soft hmpf before falling on her butt once again. Slowly, countless butterflies begin swirl around her in their own fluttery dances. The filly is mesmerized for only a few seconds before she squeals hell! one more time and lights a butterfly on fire.
Innocent and sweet despite her chanting (and . . . murder?), she turns her goofy smile back to her parents.
and hear the harmony only when it's harming me
it's not real, it's not real, it's not real enough
@[Kensa]