Ravensblood Forest the lament of pretty baby

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The forest was quiet that day, was quiet most days — and much too quiet for the girl, who was a walking and talking crucible for a whole tumult of budding emotions. It was what had drained her about court life: the uniformity of it all. Everyone knew the same wolves, acted in the same manner, gossiped in the same tone and loved with the same inauthenticity as everyone else. She was loud but everyone else was so quiet, and they all treated her in the same way, too — righting her wrongs and dismissing her misdeeds as soon as they took place. Kitsch craved variety and newness and quickly forgot anything that could not challenge her in the ways she wished to be challenged. At times during her childhood, she felt as if she were living a hollow dream where everyone was asleep and she was awake; and Kitsch pushed against this dreamlike reality, yelling and pushing the others to awaken with her and demonstrate some real emotion… but none other did.  This had been the one, the singular positive result of her decampment from her homelands — out here, there was endless variety and it was all so real. 

…well, it was real most of the time but indeed that day upon the lake was quiet and warm and the air was heavy with spring moisture. All was still so the sound of encroaching footfalls behind her rang loud in her downy ears. Her ear fluttered lazily against the sound and for a moment, her crown remained where it was: pressed up against the earth, gaze trailing the ripples as they undulated out from the shore. Only when the last ripple faded did Kitsch lift her head and that’s when she saw him. The brute was large and skulking; she might have imagined this to be Arturo or Dakarai, if it weren’t for his imposing form. Keppel gaze flicked to his patchwork of a pelt, draped over his solid musculature, then settled on his steely gaze. The pearl pushed herself up onto one feathered elbow but did not rise from her earthen chaise. “Kitsch” was the only word she could speak and even as the sound passed her pale lips it slipped away and evanesced into nothingness, beseeching the unknown man to not feed her the same brand of monotony that so many others had.

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