Ravensblood Forest the lament of pretty baby

@Rollo

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It only took Kitsch a few days to recover from her famished state. Kitsch’s gamine form had easily filled out  and a youthful curvature returned to her limbs, chest and backside once more. She still looked hollow in places but the young pearl was no where near the state she had found herself in at Teaghlaigh’s borders, starving and clinging tightly to her one, false bid for Arturo’s approval. After her initial gluttonous exploitations of Teaghlaigh’s coffers [and introduction to the all too serious Lia], her ravenous hunger was sated and settled — and Kitsch felt the nourishment percolate through her body and restore the blasé tenacity of her entire personality. It seemed to have taken a backseat during pursuit of her own survival.

This freedom from hunger also gave Kitsch the to liberty to see after other important matters, such as preening her downy pelt with precise and fine movements of her teeth and tongue. Sleeping lazily about the forest also ranked highly on her list nowadays and Kitsch did just that, since it was what pleased her. Now Kitsch did whatever pleased her for now Kitsch had no court to advise her and no guards to control her, both of whom had always treated her not unlike some political plaything, to be pampered and coddled and controlled, for her entire life up until now. But here she was, alone; here she was free to do anything she wanted. 

Kitsch thought of her mother and her father often. The young girl wondered if they missed her. This had been something Kitsch had just assumed to be true: her parents, the King and Queen, missed her and wanted her back. After all, who wouldn’t miss her and want her back? she was their pearl, their princess! But... if they did in fact miss her, wouldn’t emissaries and scouts have found her by now? It had been an awfully long time since he dissapearance and no rescue team had discovered her whereabouts. Kitsch wasn't that sneaky... it shouldn't be that hard to find her! With regret, Kitsch wondered if perhaps there had been no scouts at all. Perhaps her family thought they were better off without her. Perhaps they didn't love her. It was a reality that Kitsch thrashed against with the entirety of her being but, on the outside, tried to appear cool and uncaring -- as if this truth didn't bother the oujo one bit.

The frigid winter had snapped and the interminable snows had begun to melt. Rather than soak into the ground, the meltedwater traveled above the still-frozen ground and collected in little divets and pockets throughout the forest; some mere puddles, others coalescing enough water to become the size of lakes. That day, Kitsch came upon one these larger reservoirs and immediately dipped her ink-tipped nose to it. The cool meltwater slaked her interminable thirst and filled her belly once more; a comforting sensation after so much hunger. Then, laying her body against the shore of the small lake, Kitsch dipped her stracciatella paw into the water and watched the ripples ring out across the lake’s jeweled waters over and over and over and over and over again.

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