Lena
hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul
that perches in the soul
Lena wasn’t the type to laugh at others, though the image of Mateo’s concentration was fitting enough for a light smile. “Your spread is beautiful,” and she eyed them again before sitting down, casting out her own wake nearby. Placing her basket along the fresh grass, and ensuring Mittens had its tether still instilled along her belt, she tended to the other inquiries. “They’ve been well.” Nothing like the war’s midst, when everything had been a chaotic mess – enclosures opened, animals running wild. “How are things for you?” Perhaps peacetime, the art and nature of repose, had been kind to the youth too.
The Caretaker snagged at her fabric over her shoulder, unfurling the dress in a pool of soft, lavender fabric. “Yes. For the upcoming ball.” Some stitching had already been starting in the corner, a makeshift ivory dragon, to honor her sister, beginning its incline across the bottom hem. She snagged at her needle and thread, beginning to unravel the spool of white along her fingers. “What are you working on?”
The Caretaker snagged at her fabric over her shoulder, unfurling the dress in a pool of soft, lavender fabric. “Yes. For the upcoming ball.” Some stitching had already been starting in the corner, a makeshift ivory dragon, to honor her sister, beginning its incline across the bottom hem. She snagged at her needle and thread, beginning to unravel the spool of white along her fingers. “What are you working on?”
and sings the tune without the words
and never stops at all
and never stops at all
