"Why are you staring at me like that?"
The sun was cold. In the middle of August, she could only shiver beneath a cerulean so like the endless depths she originated from. Didn't the dead souls of passersby feel it, too? The balloon delivery man with a Pierrot face, the homeless woman chasing any and all away from her smiling dog, the greedy general store clerk who raised the prices at the counter-- none of them so much as shivered beneath the icy cumuli. Charlotte wrapped the ivory shawl more tightly around her fallen snow shoulders, then continued to push herself down the shortcut alleyway she had discovered months ago.But, maybe it was a bad idea. The secluded dimness between two buildings only made her feel worse. Her wheels turned sluggishly, as if the wheelchair could suffer hypothermia, and the little pearl just gave up right then and there. School was too much effort today, she concluded. Something was just off with her.Hand to heart, her blunt nails massaged the breast bone beneath her clavicles. A weary feeling overwhelmed her, suddenly. This didn't happen often, but it had come about whenever there was a pungant aura near. It meant danger. Charlotte gripped her armrest in an lackluster attempt to drown out the dull throbbing that ached within every beat of her pulse. She had suffered through more than this, had taken on centuries of physical ache, but her teeth were grit in discomfort that only increased tenfold at the sound of approaching footsteps. Her eyes were more like swamps than emeralds in their strain to gaze upwards, but she was unblinkingly curious as to who could possess a nictotine-like nature. It was so laced with tar and cinders, the delicate piece of seaglass almost broke beneath its pressure. At the very least, she was suffocating on it.Why are you staring at me like that?Her head inclined politely, despite the increased amount of suffering every enclosing centimeter entailed. He seemed to emerge out of the very shadows, themselves, smiling like a white knife on a black canvas. Just the sight of it almost made her want to double over, but she devotedly kept herself upright and reached shakily for the nearest writing utensil and paper supplement. A blue marker and notepad, perfect. The felt tip immediately smudged against its surface, creating ugly blots that freckled the page unneccessarily. She pressed forward, jotting down her reply in written word. The lighting was so bad for midday, she wondered if he would even comprehend her handwriting.[ ✑ I apologize for that. I just don't meet many immortals, certainly not ones with such pwerful auras. Also, forgive me for asking, but could you not come too much closer? I'm having some trouble adjusting. ]Hopefully it wasn't too obvious, but Charlotte had thumbed at her wheel to roll it backwards, if just even the slightest bit. All she wanted was for the air that rushed through her lungs to stop burning. Yet, somehow, she managed the serene smile of a child that knew nothing but bliss. He was, afterall, like her. Different.
Starter Sentences found here; accepting.
