𝐻𝒶𝓁𝓁𝑜𝓌𝑒𝒹.

Le fond de l'air est frais—

[agnesse]

[agnesse]

[agnesse]

[agnesse]

[uaeveggies-blog]

A Real “Cute Chick”

[agnesse]

[agnesse]

[agnesse]

[heartsnmagic]

[we-lovecats]

[agnesse]

·( ∂ємι )·

She looked at the woman, offering a smile that would hopefully put the other at ease. She hadn’t meant to make Agnès feel bad, just as she hadn’t meant it either. It was a moot point, what they had said was already out and in the open, and there was no way short going back in time that would fix that.

"You can keep the clothes, just store them. Once you manage to find your way home, you can take them with you. And hey, you could take some clothes from here home, show them to your friends." Efforts to reclaim the conversation from the dark depths from which they had been all but sacrificed.

— ❀   "That wouldn't seem like such a bad idea..."             Steps were slowed, the air considerably lighter than from a few moments past—and the vestal is clueless, having not felt a single lick of tension, but rather, only the velvet touch of shame that enveloped her. Idle play between one's fingers coupled with a simple nod of the head; she notices how the distance between her and Demetria spanned, boots hopping and near-running in response.

            "Oh, I'm certain Edea would love it if I bought her some new clothes as we—" And she stops abruptly, remembering that not only was it impolite to have brought up a new name without so much as an introduction, but that the oration of one's thoughts should not always be direct, but analyzed before released. Clipped limbs and digits interwoven like twine; a sign of silent apology. "... The shop is not too far from here, right?"

[agnesse]

[the-girl-who-saved-the-world-de]

[agnesse]

·( νι¢тσяια )·

At the response, mirthful giggles escaped her lips. Change? As if that would happen. Did she not know who she was facing? Yet the little witch found more amusement in the vestal getting angry at her; the hardened stare, the subtle twitching of fingertips, the steady flow of mana surging forth, readying herself for an attack. At this, she pulled out her rod, waving it around as her own energies pooled within. Like she could actually land a strike on her. The vestal was clearly outmatched, and she was alone. Victoria could easily end her life with a flick of her wrist. But the witch held back for the moment, always one to play with her prey before attacking.

"Oh, you flatter me," she responded, her laughter ceasing as she met the vestal’s gaze. "As if I would really change my opinions about you, but for you to stand before me like this, I’ll be nice." At this, she pointed her rod at the woman. "If you simply surrender yourself to me without any of your annoying fussing, then maybe we can escape this without spilling innocent blood again."

— ❀   Hollow-souled words were cast aside, burnish painted orbs drowning in concentration. Paying heed to crudely crafted talk will do no good to her artes, and instead would put her life on the line. She pretends, with a still demeanor, that she listened...and though her counterfeit attentiveness gives way to doubt and no less, anger, the vestal stares on. Blackened fingers deliberately curl along a cane's girth; gem-encrusted tip glowing faintly, almost splendidly, against a bleak backdrop.

          A near-hiss, only stopped with the pressure of hardened marrow upon a rose tier, was nearly loosened as her enemy's final statements refused to leave her ear as it entered the other; wandering memories of an oxford-hued crown framing soft visage bespeaking of kindness...and innocence. Silent violence, she used, to pry away the wistful portraits that hung painfully upon a guilt-ridden scruple. Raising a weapon, now glimmering furiously with unspoken magicks, the brunette held it in front of herself with certainty, eyes narrowing,           "If you wish to fight," was her disagreement, refusing to hand herself over, "then fight."

[overtxure]

Send me "❋" and I'll hand write your URL and a quote from your character.

[agnesse]

·( тнє ωιη∂ ¢яуѕтαℓ )·

What is your purpose here?

That should be an easy question for him to answer, but finding the answer was difficult without the thought of the Vestal not believing him. Many ways of how to phrase it ran through the crystal’s mind, the thrumming of the woman’s heart echoing loud in his ears even still as he remained in place as to not frighten the woman any further than he already had.

A breath, eyes opening as the figure tilted his head up to gaze up upon the other staring down upon him. Up until now he had thought of ways to explain his presence here at the temple, but looking into Agnès’ eyes made it all flutter away into the simplest of answers he could muster.

"To keep the wind blowing, and to await your return."

It wasn’t a flat out ‘I’m the wind crystal’, but the hint was there for Agnès to pick apart herself. Eyes shut once more, pointed ears now lifting ever so slightly to listen to that familiar heartbeat that had been absent in the temple for so long.

"I’m glad you’re alright…"

,.: ❀ :.,

          Enigmas ofttimes abet the vestal's inquisitive persona, young fingers twiddling and plucking at well-fabricated catgut—but now she only feels a plaintive sense of loss, fingers twitching under the hidden cold. Even after the man had tipped off one vague inkling, Agnès feels defeated still, mouth hanging ajar with not a single breath released.

          "You possess such power?"           Quiet was her voice, made heard only by the lofty timbre that seeped through rose colored lips. She wished to know more, but at the same time felt a tad fearful for addressing such a powerful being so informally; her actions personally deemed untoward and brash. Gloved fingers intertwine, accompanied with clicking of boots' heels—feet aligned and closed—and demure hanging of one's head.

          "I apologize," her voice was much more eloquent and direct, the steady rhythm of her words coating tumultuous sentiments that whizzed violently about her soul—the Wind Crystal's wish of her well-being falling regrettably unto deaf ears, "I should not have asked so openly about that. I retract my statement, Sir Wind."

[agnesse]

·( ∂ємι )·

Demi cringed at the sound of the other woman’s words, the idea that she had said something, or had said too much to the other made her stop in her tracks. She felt slightly bad about ripping this poor woman’s clothing to pieces, essentially telling her that none of the clothes that she was wearing were too much and that she couldn’t wear them ever again.

"Look, I’m sorry for being blunt, but I don’t want you ending up in prison or worse. Blending in is the least you can do until you can manage to find a way home."

— ❀   Cinnamon tresses brush roughly against rose-speckled cheeks, strands merely following their roots. Guilt quickly creeps up and latches onto a near-white scruple, brows tenting up worryingly. She feels silly, for overreacting, and yet ashamed for eliciting such contrite words from Demetria as well.

          "No, no, it's alright! I... These clothing..." A lapse, unintentional, but all the while welcomed still. "..they've so much sentimental value on them. It's not your fault, truly, I was merely being fussy over the idea of change—" And she pauses yet again, the veracity of spoken word twisting her tongue mercilessly, rendering her speechless—but she quickly retaliates and presses on, "... I know you are only looking out for me, and I thank you."