SEREN
For every tyrant, a tear for the vulnerable
In every lost soul, the bones of a miracle
In every lost soul, the bones of a miracle
Seren had been surprised at the ouverture to spend time with Aurelia. A little taken aback, strangely reluctant... but in the end, she had agreed. If nothing else, then because she wanted to understand this woman better. She was the new Governor of Torchline, Maeve's co-ruler... and someone whom her mother had granted favor. These unsettled feelings of unease Seren kept getting around her could not be allowed to linger, not without a good reason.
Though, really. The killing of a companion would likely be reason enough to many. Not so for Seren. She knew the circumstances around that, perhaps better than many.
"Someone told me about, yes... I've been here once before," she murmured, following in Aurelia's wake out onto the bridge. She carried a simple wooden staff in her hand, and kept twirling it as she walked. To get used to the sensation of the shaft between her hands, and learn the shifting weight and balance of such a weapon. It felt better than a sword... but Seren admittedly missed the precision of a blade. Especially when vines and mutters in the underbrush made her think of those dratted gourds.
In the bright sunlight, the touch of night on the girl was glaring and obvious. Even the slightest move she made set the dark aura to billowing about her, trailing like a soft cloud around arms and legs, drifting past shoulders and loose curls like a veil. Highly aware of its presence, Seren kept her eyes on the surrounding landscape. Unwilling to find out exactly what the other woman thought of such an opulent display of... otherness.
"Better not look down, then. Torchline's had enough bad luck for a time."
Though, really. The killing of a companion would likely be reason enough to many. Not so for Seren. She knew the circumstances around that, perhaps better than many.
"Someone told me about, yes... I've been here once before," she murmured, following in Aurelia's wake out onto the bridge. She carried a simple wooden staff in her hand, and kept twirling it as she walked. To get used to the sensation of the shaft between her hands, and learn the shifting weight and balance of such a weapon. It felt better than a sword... but Seren admittedly missed the precision of a blade. Especially when vines and mutters in the underbrush made her think of those dratted gourds.
In the bright sunlight, the touch of night on the girl was glaring and obvious. Even the slightest move she made set the dark aura to billowing about her, trailing like a soft cloud around arms and legs, drifting past shoulders and loose curls like a veil. Highly aware of its presence, Seren kept her eyes on the surrounding landscape. Unwilling to find out exactly what the other woman thought of such an opulent display of... otherness.
"Better not look down, then. Torchline's had enough bad luck for a time."
In every dreamer a dream - we're unstoppable
with something to believe in
with something to believe in
