Nothing was right. It never seemed to be anymore, but especially not now. Amaya stood at the edge of the field, hugging her shoulders. Why wasn't it helping her? Why wasn't it comforting her like it always did?
Amaya was an air elementalist. At least she was the last she checked, and the wind had always been there for her. When she felt negatively about anything, it was always there, lifting her hair, blowing about her, reminding her that she wasn't alone. But now she was alone. Amaya hadn't felt this lonely since her mother's passing some years ago. It was like some part of her was taken away.
She could feel her magic, but it didn't feel right, it didn't feel the same. It was meant to be free and wild, dancing at her fingertips, ready to build a wind storm.at her command. But all it could do was call upon a small puff of air, like the wind had regressed and forgotten, like it was an infant to be nurtured.
The albino felt so lost. She was told she'd been dead, that she was a princess, a wife to the second born prince of Northaven. But how could she believe it? The very man who supposedly loved her was nowhere to be found.
Amaya sat in the dirt, hugging her exposed ankles and feet close to her. She didn't know what to do, what to think. She felt tears stinging the corners of her eyes. She wanted the man she'd come to see as her father, or the soldier that was like a brother. She wanted her magic, the wind. She wanted familiarity. But she wasn't getting any of those things. What she got was a barren wasteland and many people to remind her that she was dead, like she was some anomaly. She had only recently discovered what people thought of her albinism, but now she felt more out of place than ever.
It was too much, and she began to cry.
Moses-joel
Amaya was an air elementalist. At least she was the last she checked, and the wind had always been there for her. When she felt negatively about anything, it was always there, lifting her hair, blowing about her, reminding her that she wasn't alone. But now she was alone. Amaya hadn't felt this lonely since her mother's passing some years ago. It was like some part of her was taken away.
She could feel her magic, but it didn't feel right, it didn't feel the same. It was meant to be free and wild, dancing at her fingertips, ready to build a wind storm.at her command. But all it could do was call upon a small puff of air, like the wind had regressed and forgotten, like it was an infant to be nurtured.
The albino felt so lost. She was told she'd been dead, that she was a princess, a wife to the second born prince of Northaven. But how could she believe it? The very man who supposedly loved her was nowhere to be found.
Amaya sat in the dirt, hugging her exposed ankles and feet close to her. She didn't know what to do, what to think. She felt tears stinging the corners of her eyes. She wanted the man she'd come to see as her father, or the soldier that was like a brother. She wanted her magic, the wind. She wanted familiarity. But she wasn't getting any of those things. What she got was a barren wasteland and many people to remind her that she was dead, like she was some anomaly. She had only recently discovered what people thought of her albinism, but now she felt more out of place than ever.
It was too much, and she began to cry.
Moses-joel
