Face of a saint. Lips of a sinner
It took her for fucking ever to braid her own hair. It’s a hell of a lot easier to get someone else to do it, you know, like a servant or something, than it is to do it on your own. But she’d finally gotten it into a fancy, multiple-tier sort of braid and put fresh Queen Anne’s Lace in the plaits, tied it with a shiny crimson bow, and was flying out the door, the music device in on hand and her lap harp in the other.
The first person she comes across isPhoebe and takes a honeysuckle crown with a passing “Thank you, you look lovely!” before she weaves in between the crows and eventually makes it to the music area. Half out of breath, she is more than happy to find she’s not the first one there. An older Natural pair are playing a lively jig that prances with joy throughout the crowd, giving the entertainer time to tune her own instrument and find the lyric cards she’d set away the day before.
It isn’t long before the musicians play their final song, and they happily pass the music area to the redhead, faces flushed, sweat upon their brows. They’ve earned a snack and a rest!
The first person she comes across is
It isn’t long before the musicians play their final song, and they happily pass the music area to the redhead, faces flushed, sweat upon their brows. They’ve earned a snack and a rest!
