Blacktail Deer Plateau cake by the ocean

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Merrigan looked surprised at Kitsch’s relative ignorance of these obscured humans, but the woman did not elaborate on the topic. Instead, she explained that the touch of humankind had not befallen these woods — an answer which gave Kitsch only a semblance of contentment. Truly, the ink stained girl wished to know more about these creatures [Kitsch always had an affinity for ghost stories and other scary things that went bump in the night] and was sad when it was denied of her. “Oh,” she breathed, and that was that.

”That’s a pretty name,” Kitsch responded, inelegantly trying to keep up with Merrigan’s barrage of compliments. ”I’m Kitsch,” she responded. The girl was neither fond of her name nor disliked it; she felt the meaning of the was something of an ironic joke by her parents [but her constituents were none the wiser].  Kitsch also disliked how the wolves had a penchant to call her “Quiche." Back home, in Saoi Baile, such would be a punishable offense! Here, though… Here, the princess had to grin and bear it. No one listened to her out here, or listened to what she wanted.

Kitsch looked down to glimpse the small, periwinkle blooms that adorned her ermine décolletage. ”Would you like one?” she suggested, plucking one from her scarfed neck with her lips and offering it to her flirtatious cohort.

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