Whitefish River some sad singers, they just play tragic
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Ooc — Rosie
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you get olive’s 400th post, my beautiful friend!


The sylph was in the midst of her flight when a coconut, chocolate-brown and wired, rolled past her. Actually, it did not roll as much as it did bounce in a rather comical way, and Olive came to a skidding halt to marvel at it. A coconut, here? How could this be? She was so very far away from the beach. The woman of ash and bone had seen these things before — had cracked one open and indulged in their sweet nectar too, and immediately Olive was appreciative of her sudden good fortune. Perhaps this was a god's gift, though it made no sense; it was so random that it could only be a sign that she was on the right path. 

Olive laughed. Was she that desperate for universal reassurance? She was truly grasping at straws now. She took a step towards the coconut, preparing to grasp it, when something far more interesting suddenly came onto the scene.  Little did Olive know, but Carina’s reappearance heralded a time of many reunions — this would be the first, of many. The fae immediately recognized the gamine, inky dog. Again, for the first of many times to come, her mouth fell open in sheer shock of it. Carina… was alive?

Suddenly, it was as if all the breath rushed from her — and to replace it came the memories, as vivid as daylight, illuminating the truth of the relationship that laid before her. Once her closest confidant, traded by the mummer queen for her own life — and the lives of her newborn babes. It had almost been a year since the worst day of her life.

The small wolfess prostrated herself in front of the skittering girl, who seemed to have as many issues swallowing this as she did, by throwing herself upon the dirt and stifling a small sob. Olive thought often about what became of her nursedog, and being alive had not been assigned a high likelihood. What horrors had she seen — where had she been — what had befallen her? Olive did her best to look a pity, but it did not take much work because she was so very, very sorry. She didn't know what else she could say. “I am so very, very sorry,” she supplicated, thrusting her gaze upwards beseechingly, pleadingly. Olive needed her forgiveness more than she needed her next breath. “It was not my choice. It's not what I wanted...” she managed to choke out, voice quavering and cracking, her heart wrenching over the pain she had brought upon yet another innocent being.
and all my days are trances, and all my nightly dreams
are where thy grey eye glances, and where thy footstep gleams
in what ethereal dances, by what eternal streams

Messages In This Thread
some sad singers, they just play tragic - by Olive - January 05, 2018, 06:12 PM
RE: some sad singers, they just play tragic - by Olive - January 18, 2018, 12:45 AM
RE: some sad singers, they just play tragic - by Olive - January 19, 2018, 08:16 PM
RE: some sad singers, they just play tragic - by Stockholm - January 19, 2018, 10:53 PM
RE: some sad singers, they just play tragic - by Olive - January 25, 2018, 02:01 AM
RE: some sad singers, they just play tragic - by Stockholm - February 03, 2018, 11:03 PM
RE: some sad singers, they just play tragic - by Coelacanth - February 09, 2018, 03:54 PM
RE: some sad singers, they just play tragic - by Olive - February 27, 2018, 10:27 PM
RE: some sad singers, they just play tragic - by Olive - April 12, 2018, 12:40 PM