@royal-botanist II Octopath Verse
“One-two-three-four, one-two-three-four--”
Voice quiet and breathless as she keeps track of a rhythm in her head, a distance away from a small campfire, the siren practices her steps on her unsteady legs. The better she could sell the guise, despite her clearly unusual and unnatural features, that she was, in fact, a human woman, the easier it would be to hunt down the bastard who took her fins, took her freedom and wrenched her from her home into this horrid land.
And that meant practicing dancing. Being known for her voice alone would make her too conspicuous, too clear to tell just who is was coming for that man and his damnable amulet.
Again and again, the sandal straps straining against small ankles, and glittering, scale covered feet-- two steps forward, a flourish with her arms, a step back, sway to the side, to the other side, twirl--
The world tilts, and her breath sucks in sharp, before she’s tumbling onto her side into the dirt.
The conversation in the background goes silent, and instead, as she hears someone rise and make their way to her, even behind her back, as she lays there, staring blankly into the falling twilight in the distance, she mumbles,
“Don’t you dare laugh at me, human.”
