Trinket followed the man, curious about his intent. She barely glanced at the color-changing stones. She had paid them scant attention while she walked through the city. They were, objectively speaking, beautiful. But she had no interest in beauty.
Beauty was boring.
She carefully weighed his words. Such curious sentiments. She pondered the words in silence, following the man down the street. She dragged her doll along with her, holding it by one arm, the doll's porcelain feet dragging along the ground, the tiny feet bumping against the colorful stones.
Finally, she looked up at the blacksmith and asked, "Why do we need to make the best of ourselves? And what does time have to do with it?"
She glanced around at the surrounding streets. Boring. Buildings were boring. People going about their lives, boring. But the blacksmith held her curiosity, longer than most had. Quite curious indeed.
She remained by his side, for now. He was not boring.
Beauty was boring.
She carefully weighed his words. Such curious sentiments. She pondered the words in silence, following the man down the street. She dragged her doll along with her, holding it by one arm, the doll's porcelain feet dragging along the ground, the tiny feet bumping against the colorful stones.
Finally, she looked up at the blacksmith and asked, "Why do we need to make the best of ourselves? And what does time have to do with it?"
She glanced around at the surrounding streets. Boring. Buildings were boring. People going about their lives, boring. But the blacksmith held her curiosity, longer than most had. Quite curious indeed.
She remained by his side, for now. He was not boring.
