maybe it’s the loss of someone close that akane’s thoughts wander into the what-ifs .
the curve of the other’s lips tells her something , but the spark of black deep within tell her that it’s too much . she was careless , placing the petals on the ground where they could wither and die in front of whoever caught sight of it . she should’ve hid them under her boot , crushing the decaying plant and keeping it from being seen .
panic settles deep within demoness when the smirk turns to a smile . she wants to know of the dying plant life , she can see it . but what’s dead and or dying is DEAD . you shouldn’t question it, no matter the fact that something’s off .
such a vibrant colour was her signature , hence her name . whether it be blood or the stain of red that decorates her lips , she looks good in it . hell , blood looks good on anything dead .
❛ cute , ❜ she replies . she caught the chuckle , she knows what the other’s thinking . it’s kind of expected , considering the woman stared at her for a while after looking at the plant .
her love for plant-life only just showed itself ; something about life and taking care of something seeming to capture the demon’s attention .
❛ innocent doesn’t even describe it , miss . ❜ she shrugs , taking this movement to place her foot over the ashes of petals and sliding it, spreading them in the ground .
❛ society’s standards don’t apply to me … i should be a shadow , but it looks like you’ve got good eyes . ❜ her banter is playful , but it hides a meaning that not even she knows of, not yet .
❛ you were just strolling the garden , right ? do you have a place to be ? ❜
Cornflower blue happily follows the women’s movements, at first lingering upon her face, lowering to BLOOD red lips, gliding on towards figure clothed in attire that had long captured her attention. A tilt of her head, the pole of the umbrella balanced on left shoulder while laced gloved hand occasionally turned the crooked handle before it was once more placed on the ground, tip upon the grass. The smile upon her face didn’t falter, instead it continued to maintain it’s light curve; carmine surface catching the light of the sun, making it appear as if small little pearls adorned supple lines.
“So it seems. My eyes have long stopped noticing things that are only to be seen in the light, they often peer into the dark. One who thinks of themselves as a shadow--.” A pause, airy sigh passed parted lips. “They are noticed by me, whether I want it or not. Though often they interest me more than those that are to be seen in plain sight.” She too responds with a tune that is reminiscent of GOOD times, of playful jokes and light chatter but it seemed that the two of them spoke with words that held more layers than one, yet were unwilling to delve into WHAT those layers exactly were. Hidden by a veil that was too thick to be simply lifted and reveal all that was hidden.
By now Irena’s attention was no longer upon the WITHERED petals nor the STAIN they now left on the ground. It was divided between the woman and what awaited her at her parental home (whom had asked her to come and visit for once; well her father asked her). The other’s question was heard but it seemed so distant especially when her own thoughts, for a moment, got stuck at what would happen when she would finally step into that house again, how she should respond when looking at her mother, who for a lack of a better word was TERRIFIED of her own daughter. She was used to it though, how her mother would FLINCH whenever Irena’s eyes would find her. Another sigh, a shake of her head, there was nothing to be done about that. She cared little for what her mother thought of her (and even if she never admitted it, she LOVED how that woman would tremble upon hearing her name & how she did everything in her power to AVOID her own daughter).
“Mhmm. Merely strolling, clearing my head from all that continues to bother us in this time and age. I luckily have the freedom to roam about as I please with no one holding me down. So, no, for now this is the place I want to be.” Lace adorned hand brushes dark ringlets away from sun-kissed skin, tucking some loose strands behind decorated ear. A step forward, free hand hoisting the side of her dress so it may not drag across the dirt, she comes to stand next to the other.
“If you too have no place to be, do you mind joining me in my stroll? And who knows, we might even exchange names in the end.” Like chiming bells does her laugh sound, a gesture of her hand, inviting the dark haired woman to walk with her.
