COLT
You put my fire out each time I lit it
See your demons in the mirror and they keep grinning
Got my backbone back, four years you kept it hidden
See your demons in the mirror and they keep grinning
Got my backbone back, four years you kept it hidden
The day is sweltering. It's as if Longheat has attempted to resurface with a vengeance, a sharp reminder that they aren't into winter yet, despite all the shaggier coats the animals are getting and the ways the leaves and grasses have turned. It had been a hot streak for a few days now, but this one is the worst by far, made all the more so with a mugginess that the gathering clouds have added to the mix. They're the sort of clouds that looked like they might drop rain, although she has a guess it'd be hot rain, barely any relief at all.
She's got her hat pulled down, trying to fan the sweat clinging to her for some respite, but all it really does is push the thick, heated air around in a miserable manner. Her hair is frizzy along the top, and it sticks to any part of her skin it touches, much like her clothes do. Her jeans are tight, not giving her the usual easy bend, latched onto the moisture instead. Her blue button up shirt is darker along her back and under her arms, and its pressed flat against her waist where movement has set it against her accumulating perspiration.
She's sucking down a cold beer in town, leaning against the railing in some shade, hopeful a nearby breeze might pick up and take all this away. She's even gone so far as to buy a round for everyone at the pub, a moment of bliss for them all amid the newfound hell, though if they're not careful just their hands will heat up the booze, so they have to drink it quick.
She's got her hat pulled down, trying to fan the sweat clinging to her for some respite, but all it really does is push the thick, heated air around in a miserable manner. Her hair is frizzy along the top, and it sticks to any part of her skin it touches, much like her clothes do. Her jeans are tight, not giving her the usual easy bend, latched onto the moisture instead. Her blue button up shirt is darker along her back and under her arms, and its pressed flat against her waist where movement has set it against her accumulating perspiration.
She's sucking down a cold beer in town, leaning against the railing in some shade, hopeful a nearby breeze might pick up and take all this away. She's even gone so far as to buy a round for everyone at the pub, a moment of bliss for them all amid the newfound hell, though if they're not careful just their hands will heat up the booze, so they have to drink it quick.
Some things are meant to be, looks like we weren't
When I ran away from you my flame returned
Guess it's safe to say that now the bridge is burned
When I ran away from you my flame returned
Guess it's safe to say that now the bridge is burned
Received a Gilded Market wig from Remi that resembles her usual hair and is enchanted to stay on better than most wigs | has a reverse centaur tattoo on her left hand with the legs going down her pointer and middle fingers that looks like this.
