calling

now here we are... 40 years later -sweats- thank you for your endless patience, seriously <33

It was a room all her own.

Not a sandy impression.  Not an earthen dugout. Not the master’s walled menagerie. A room all her own. With her plush furs, and her feathers, and a healthy sprig of crimson desert rose. Her paints and her drawings. Her gemstones on a stone shelf, waiting to be admired. No one here to attend. No one’s litter to pick up after. Only a room as tranquil as the river, a space for herself to go, as clean as a slab of quartzite before the engraving.

She passes her palm over the natural undulation of the stone, imagining the works that could go on these walls. The stories. Perhaps her’s.

A voice falls quietly down the hall, but it startles Eset with a stinging familiarity- like how a mother is attuned to the cry of her child. She pulls herself from the room and hastens through the corridors, her breath wedged in her throat and head whipping down the aisles in search of one particular girl.

“Racharra?”