The Sunspire Easy come, Easy go

Olive dipped her head as Dakarai explained the meaning of the foreign word. His delineation of the loric nymphs was endlessly fascinating to the grey mistress. Fruiting flora were few and far between where she resided in Ravensblood Forest and remained a consistent mystery to Olive, who deigned to sneak a morsel of thesweet nectar whenever possible. To her, these rarities represented abundance and new life [an element of this humble existence that always seemed slightly out of alignment, unbalanced]. Consqeuentially, Olive had a feeling that these nymphs were, too, a rarity.

“Anthousai,” the honeyed word slipped off of her tongue a second time. “I hope to meet one, someday soon.” Perhaps she already had? The fae had a sneaking suspicion that the word was elicited by the earthy impression she left on most others [quite intentional] – thought, she did not want to make any assumptions.

Olive cocked her head as she further regarded Dakarai's stately presence. His smile was endearing [charming?] and his persona was authentic. He spoke laconically, which she understood as his unembellished truth – something she deeply respected. Though Olive enjoyed the company of most living [and, of course, nonliving] beings, the dark king commanded her attention in a different way.

“Olive,” she confessed. “My name; that is. I'm Olive.”