Haunted Wood digging out stumps of old resentments that refuse to rot on their own (mtr.)
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Borage, chervile, and goosegrass, (and dandelion leaves for herself)—
the matron ticks every herb off her list, remembering to find something for the croon Odessa, like poppy to ease her slower days. Though, betwixt slaving jaws the tattered hems of her little stock fllit and feather from nicked lips as Rohesia curses her situation a thousand times again and again.
a seer, a healer, a herald, that is what she is. For her cousins to claim kingship so easily as if it were handouts for the needy leaves her feeling empty even with a full stomach. 

Newlywed, flushed cheeks of the bride;
no, her god could never want this. The flames had told it so, the womb of the High Elk had not burned for yet another of the felled disciples of Him to take over. No, she thinks. This is meant for the blood of the family who were casted aside by their first breath! It was destiny meant for someone who never thought they could reach it, hold it in shivering, holy palms —

A riveted gasp and the soft rustle of dropped herbs, the woman comes across somethign she'd never imagine. Twin fawns, yes, — but conjoined at the neck while the small of their backs were shared, one. It had to be a sign. For Kinglsend, for her. 

It must be.
Oh fishmonger, oh fishmonger
come quell your daughter's hunger!
Messages In This Thread
digging out stumps of old resentments that refuse to rot on their own (mtr.) - by Rohesia - September 18, 2020, 11:46 AM