Rosewater Oasis marchitó

looking for her to meet others c:

the evening sun dipped low, painting the horizon in hues of molten gold and amber, its waning light glinting off the small, crystalline pool nestled within the oasis. the air was thick with the scent of desert roses, their delicate petals swaying in rhythm with the faint whisper of a breeze. six towering palms cast long, spindly shadows over the scene, their leaves rustling softly like the murmurs of unseen spectators.  

ximena lay sprawled languidly near the water’s edge, her lithe form draped over the smooth sandstone that ringed the pool. her posture was one of calculated ease, the curve of her body accentuated by the evening light. a single paw dipped lazily into the cool water, tracing idle patterns that rippled outward in gentle waves. eyes half-lidded, she gazed at her reflection, a faint, enigmatic smile curving her lips.  

the stillness was almost dreamlike, broken only by the occasional chirp of a night insect or the distant call of a nocturnal bird. the oasis, a place of whispered legends and desperate hopes, seemed a fitting backdrop for her. here, she was queen of her solitude, unbothered by the chaos of the outside world.  

yet, even as she reclined, a part of her remained alert, her ears twitching at the faintest sound. she had come here for peace, but she was not foolish enough to believe it would last. for a place like this, coveted and whispered about in awe, could never remain untouched for long.