There's a young woman in the Aerilon marketplace. Or so at least she appears, walking among them.
Hair the color of a gold more gold than any prided metal, that every shade of blonde would pale and wither beside and before. Skin the palest of dawns, unkissed by The Sun. A long white gown, fitted bodice and flowing, endless skirts, flares around her, a world of fabric, rippling, rising, falling, like water more than cloth, every time she turns and twists. Making what other people call walking, look as though it were a dance between the wind and herself. Though her feet and the hem of those endless skirts, nary once touch the ground.
Something brilliant shimmering just for the beat of a blink in the wake of those ruffles, and the movements of her hands, and the coils of curls, and the single, slender white drawstring card bag that hangs from a wrist. Caught in the peerless smile and tinkling bells of her laughter every time she thanks a new person she passes after looking at their wares.
XVII - The Star || Tarot || Scenario 2
Hair the color of a gold more gold than any prided metal, that every shade of blonde would pale and wither beside and before. Skin the palest of dawns, unkissed by The Sun. A long white gown, fitted bodice and flowing, endless skirts, flares around her, a world of fabric, rippling, rising, falling, like water more than cloth, every time she turns and twists. Making what other people call walking, look as though it were a dance between the wind and herself. Though her feet and the hem of those endless skirts, nary once touch the ground.
Something brilliant shimmering just for the beat of a blink in the wake of those ruffles, and the movements of her hands, and the coils of curls, and the single, slender white drawstring card bag that hangs from a wrist. Caught in the peerless smile and tinkling bells of her laughter every time she thanks a new person she passes after looking at their wares.