Thalassa
Hands getting cold
On her way through the portal, she'd dropped a note for Asta at the Dusklight, at least letting him know she'd spoken with Maea and where to find her if he was curious to know - although she wasn't sure how helpful the information would be. The entire trip back to the Grounds had been quiet, her mind a numb current of emotions that she tried not to linger on. Every time her consciousness brushed against the rawness of loss, it recoiled, preferring to feel nothing rather than the embarrassing level of pain that sat there. She shouldn't be so upset over the separation; it wasn't like they'd ever truly gotten along, but against all reason, her words had hurt. For her to be cast aside to easily, misunderstood so thoroughly, and otherwise ignored....
She sits amongst the rivers of lava, her back against a glistening rock of igneous. In the hazy ashen lighting, she blends in amongst the landscape; dark hair, dark clothes, dark horns, dark tail, dark expression, and dark mood all making her look more like a rocky fixture of the environment than her usual fiery centerpiece. One knee's bent in front of her, supporting her elbow as she props her head, feeling the exhaustion of everything like a physical weight on her mind. The heat of the environment does nothing to warm the chill in her chest, but she stays close to the river of lava like it just might change something or at least rekindle the anger in her.
She sits amongst the rivers of lava, her back against a glistening rock of igneous. In the hazy ashen lighting, she blends in amongst the landscape; dark hair, dark clothes, dark horns, dark tail, dark expression, and dark mood all making her look more like a rocky fixture of the environment than her usual fiery centerpiece. One knee's bent in front of her, supporting her elbow as she props her head, feeling the exhaustion of everything like a physical weight on her mind. The heat of the environment does nothing to warm the chill in her chest, but she stays close to the river of lava like it just might change something or at least rekindle the anger in her.
Losing feeling is getting old
Was I made from a broken mold?
Was I made from a broken mold?
