like a bird caught in a curtain, this temporary entanglement may lead to an open sky
She has managed to see so much of this world in her young life. Had managed to travel far and away. Been able to study those who make up this world—the young and the old, the kind and the cruel. She had watched as they had lived their lives and gone about their days, and she found that she was infinitely thrilled to learn something new about them every new encounter. Perhaps they did not always know her—in fact, they rarely did—but it did not overly bother her. It was enough to know them in turn.
He, however, is different from so many she had seen.
She can barely stop the curiosity that bubbles up in her chest and the millions of questions that she wants to ask him. She can barely pause the way that she wants to run down his armored spine and know what it feels like to touch the strange skin. But she does. She holds back and only watches him from where she bobs in the air, tilting the wind of her to the side in consideration, amusement threading through the air.
“It is not kind to ask me ‘what’ I am,” she chides in her silver bell voice, a laugh weaving through every word. “I am the wind and the air and everything around you.” A grandiose lie perhaps, and more than a little generous with the truth, but the young sylph sees no reason to be so honest with him. “What are you?” she breathes and this is not such a retort as a genuine question, it never occurring to the girl that she had just returned the very questions that she had deemed rude in the first place.
