Iris
11-04-2020, 03:19 PM
all things are poisons
for there is nothing without poisonous qualities.
Her life has, in some ways, always been dictated by her mother’s whims, though this is not necessarily a bad thing. She lived, at least for now, where her mother commanded, though Iris did not mind Pangea. She went where told, though Straia infrequently made her children do things. She sent Iris on tasks only enough to make Iris feel useful, a thing which she appreciated despite being so young. It was never so much as to be annoying, and Iris was still left with freetime to do as she pleased.
Today, that free time finds her in the meadow. Pangea is a lovely place and though perhaps more populated than some of the other lands, it was still quiet and Iris wanted friends (or, her version of friends...a warped and twisted view, certainly) other than Rosebay. Besides, she was growing somewhat tired of the ghosts of Pangea and at least wanted to hear different whispers in her head.
Mostly different whispers anyway. There were a few ghosts that just followed her around; not the worst thing, she supposes. They made for very useful puppy dogs, at any rate. She has gotten better at shutting them out too, but she never fully closes the bridge, just in case. What might she miss if she cuts them off entirely?
The day is cold and her black coat has grown thick and heavy. Not quite as pretty as she might like, but she’s thankful for it anyway. Besides, there’s something still beautiful about her, wild like her mother. Her mane is long and her amber eyes are keen, though she’s at that rather awkward stage of growing all children must go through. There is little to do for her today, and so she wanders through the meadow with no plan, though she keeps her eyes pricked for both living and nonliving conversations.
Today, that free time finds her in the meadow. Pangea is a lovely place and though perhaps more populated than some of the other lands, it was still quiet and Iris wanted friends (or, her version of friends...a warped and twisted view, certainly) other than Rosebay. Besides, she was growing somewhat tired of the ghosts of Pangea and at least wanted to hear different whispers in her head.
Mostly different whispers anyway. There were a few ghosts that just followed her around; not the worst thing, she supposes. They made for very useful puppy dogs, at any rate. She has gotten better at shutting them out too, but she never fully closes the bridge, just in case. What might she miss if she cuts them off entirely?
The day is cold and her black coat has grown thick and heavy. Not quite as pretty as she might like, but she’s thankful for it anyway. Besides, there’s something still beautiful about her, wild like her mother. Her mane is long and her amber eyes are keen, though she’s at that rather awkward stage of growing all children must go through. There is little to do for her today, and so she wanders through the meadow with no plan, though she keeps her eyes pricked for both living and nonliving conversations.
it is only the dose that matters
iris