Nova
The Balloon Festival had been a blast, but it left her with a lot to think about, particularly about the Sunbean and the need to see her mom. It's drawn her home quickly, brainstorming what she's going to bring her mom when she visits. Her first idea is obviously flowers, and she makes her way to the fields of Mourn in search of a variety of colors.
Humming a lively tune, she skips through the long grass, plucking purple, blue, and yellow flowers from their stems in a flutter of violet ducks on bolden fabric. The only thing ruining her lovely sunny jaunt is the mud disrupting the rhythm of her steps, sucking her red cherry boots in every few seconds as she weaves on and off the path. Nova pulls her foot from another patch, an annoyed pout scrunching her features. "Ugh. I'm so done with this mud!"
Frost coats her fingertips, the frustrations bursting forth in a blast of ice that spreads from her foot when it stamps into the ground. The flowers are collateral damage, ice crystallizing around them in a shell that - while beautiful and admirably similar to diamonds - threatens to stifle the life from them. But Nova doesn't notice the need for caution or possible mourning for the flora gripped in her fingers, instead focusing on the wet dirt clogging her path. The blue glittering of her gaze guides the magic forward, encasing the mud in ice to prevent any further attacks or disruption.
*
Humming a lively tune, she skips through the long grass, plucking purple, blue, and yellow flowers from their stems in a flutter of violet ducks on bolden fabric. The only thing ruining her lovely sunny jaunt is the mud disrupting the rhythm of her steps, sucking her red cherry boots in every few seconds as she weaves on and off the path. Nova pulls her foot from another patch, an annoyed pout scrunching her features. "Ugh. I'm so done with this mud!"
Frost coats her fingertips, the frustrations bursting forth in a blast of ice that spreads from her foot when it stamps into the ground. The flowers are collateral damage, ice crystallizing around them in a shell that - while beautiful and admirably similar to diamonds - threatens to stifle the life from them. But Nova doesn't notice the need for caution or possible mourning for the flora gripped in her fingers, instead focusing on the wet dirt clogging her path. The blue glittering of her gaze guides the magic forward, encasing the mud in ice to prevent any further attacks or disruption.
*
There is a certain beauty in chaos,
magnificence in the uncontrollable.
magnificence in the uncontrollable.
