[Henry's voice is oddly soothing and Emerald Witch finds herself willing to let down all her defenses. Her mind untangles itself and she combs through one of the many memories she has of those lonely, dark, and dangerous years with the Witch King...
In the deepest part of her heart, she wonders what would have been different, if there was a visitor like Henry Creel in her younger years...]
⏪⏪⏪
[She lived in a world of white.
Or rather, that's what's outside the window. This is a mansion in the middle of nowhere. The flurry of pure white snow flies and swirls outside and obscures the view but everything inside is kept pristine, dry, and warm. The interior of the dwelling is a mixture of non-modern styles, Gothic, Victorian, some hints of Art Deco. One of the unifying features within was the tree trunks and branches that are embedded throughout the walls or snaking around pillars and light fixtures. And then there were the bookshelves that lined the walls of so many of the rooms that one would mistake each area as its own library instead of a place to live in.
And so this was the world she lived in. Snow, a magical mansion, and books.
In one of these alcoves, a girl who appears to be sixteen years of age can be found. The girl is dressed in a white silk blouse and a long dark skirt. Her red hair is tied up into a loose braid. Large glasses sit on the bridge of her nose, slightly lopsided and she sits on the sofa, staring outside the window with a blank expression and a book open on her lap.
At the sound of someone approaching, her voice cuts through the silence and is sharp, biting, and most of all, tired.]
no subject
In the deepest part of her heart, she wonders what would have been different, if there was a visitor like Henry Creel in her younger years...]
[She lived in a world of white.
Or rather, that's what's outside the window. This is a mansion in the middle of nowhere. The flurry of pure white snow flies and swirls outside and obscures the view but everything inside is kept pristine, dry, and warm. The interior of the dwelling is a mixture of non-modern styles, Gothic, Victorian, some hints of Art Deco. One of the unifying features within was the tree trunks and branches that are embedded throughout the walls or snaking around pillars and light fixtures. And then there were the bookshelves that lined the walls of so many of the rooms that one would mistake each area as its own library instead of a place to live in.
And so this was the world she lived in. Snow, a magical mansion, and books.
In one of these alcoves, a girl who appears to be sixteen years of age can be found. The girl is dressed in a white silk blouse and a long dark skirt. Her red hair is tied up into a loose braid. Large glasses sit on the bridge of her nose, slightly lopsided and she sits on the sofa, staring outside the window with a blank expression and a book open on her lap.
At the sound of someone approaching, her voice cuts through the silence and is sharp, biting, and most of all, tired.]
Are you here to kill me?