( bit of a wip! )
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|......In the eye of the storm there is a bluebird.......|
|.........It has been there for quite some time,..........|
|...............learning to weave its web,....................|
|.............looking out at you looking in...................|
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Once a nun, later a nurse and never a daughter,
what do you wait for?
Your long eyes are raven and clean; your skin clawed by leathery line-work.
If there is one thing this life has taught you well, it is that even the most keen rivers will cry themselves to exhaustion,
slowly beneath the desert sun. So you must become rough. Not even your mouth can remain soft.
|──────────── • ────────────|
╬╬═ • ═══════════════════════ • ═╬╬
|......In the eye of the storm there is a bluebird.......|
|.........It has been there for quite some time,..........|
|...............learning to weave its web,....................|
|.............looking out at you looking in...................|
╬╬═ • ═══════════════════════ • ═╬╬
|──────────── • ────────────|
|───────────────────────────────────────────────────────────── • SCRAWLED NOTES • ──────────|
Once a nun, later a nurse and never a daughter,
what do you wait for?
Your long eyes are raven and clean; your skin clawed by leathery line-work.
If there is one thing this life has taught you well, it is that even the most keen rivers will cry themselves to exhaustion,
slowly beneath the desert sun. So you must become rough. Not even your mouth can remain soft.
WHO ARE YOU?
Chosposi, this is your name.
Bluebird, is how people know you.
Desert rose… You’ve not heard this one in a long time.
The Shari Drahl of the Kharman Expanse, they are those who raised you.
Has it really been 33 summers since then? Perhaps. Your birthday is long lost.
A guardian of one ancient Tehn dialect and a roughened Common,
these exist to voice your unforgiving thoughts.
5’ / 152cm - Small, yes, but mighty.
You do not do much, you only travel. Staying in one place for too long is no good.
Where have you been? Hardly even you know for sure, but you've seen many things.
You just need to walk and survive.
Marriage? No, you'd never.
You are devoted only to Tsarra-- oh wait, nevermind.
You’re not on the best of terms with her, either, as of late.
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AND YOUR APPEARANCE?
Weathered skin, dark eyes, a gash across half your face... You look older than you are, but still too youthful for how raspy you speak.
How tired and angry you look.
You fiddle with your thick braids, you chew into your nails, but still you stand with a proud head. Strange, Korsian ink work spindles up your arms, but they always fade after some time and you must repaint them. All of them, except for Tsarra's Healing Mark on your left hand (and the scratches surrounding it suggest you've tried many times before to remove it).
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WIP
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