Nova Peak Splitting

She shrugged through the reassurance, tilted her head to another angle at the polite testing of a new name.

Poet, again. Prophet.

She liked the way they sounded coming from Masquerade, and it dawned on her that these titles should be treasured, stowed away for safekeeping. Like ill-fitting clothes that she would grow into; or comforting night shirts to simply sleep in should they remain too large. Her tail wiggled slightly on the ground, before stilling once more as she watched her sibling-mother wince. The girl frowned, and a scarcely audible groan of frustration shivered from her throat.

Do you eat the butterfly when it lands on your nose? She spoke a little sharply at first, then huffed. There’s no reflection in the water, Masque. It’s not calm enough. Can’t you see the ripples?