Her mother always whispered of a world much like her own, gently whispered tales of people just like her on an impossible green planet lulled her to sleep as a child, and on this curious planet was an unspoken sort of magic that couldn't be describe...
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ALOE STOOD BEFORE the floor-length mirror which had been tucked neatly into the corner of the small room, tired amber eyes gazing back at her mirrored reflection as she gently weaved in golden ringlets into a braided lock of dark hair—memories of the nimble fingers of her servant doing just the same not so long before trickled into her mind but she was quick to ignore it. Her gaze lazily trailed down the gentle curves of her body caressed by the blood-red fabric of her dress, her free hand gently brushing over the delicate strokes of art painted on her skin as the other brushed over the golden embroidery sewed on by her mother.
Aloe didn't dress in lavish jewels as she so often did back on her planet, but she still adorned her hair with jeweled braids and the same small hooped golden earrings she'd received as a gift from her late father—they were things that reminded her of her home. She gently slipped on a simple golden ring with a small blood-red gem onto her index finger, a jewel passed down by the previous Saintess before gently adjusting the bandages she'd wrapped up to her elbows. It had been the same routine she had every morning since the night she awoke on the unfamiliar planet.
She quietly gazed at the tribal markings painted onto her skin.
It had only been about a week since she crashed on the planet Earth and the etched spirals of art remained as dark as the day they'd been painted on her like a second skin, traveling up her thighs and some delicate swirls danced up her collarbone and to the delicate side of her neck—where she wished they would forever stay. They were a mark of remembrance, a reminder that every passing day was another spent away from the people who'd dedicated their lives to serving her. The ones who'd provided her with lavish fruits and delicate clothes, an abundance of jewels, and a palace that stretched farther than the bustling city Gohan had promised to show her.
It was easy to forget her sorrows amongst the colorful world she crashed in, but within the dark ink painted on her supple skin was a promise she'd made to her people along with them memories of their blood coloring the palace floors. She would go back, she swore to The Heavenly Saintess Aloea herself—she would take back her planet and return the lives of her people no matter what it cost her.
But for now, she had to wait.
Except she hated waiting.
But the minutes turned to hours and eventually days, and she spent her time being accustomed to Earth and its human inhabitants, educated about their mannerisms and diverse culture. Gohan had taken it upon himself to bring her books about the planet Earth, and she marveled at the realistic paintings Gohan called photos of abandoned rustic castles and mountains that stretched beyond comprehension. When he saw how much she loved the texts filled with knowledge and colorful pictures he got her even more, each with photos of every animal imaginable and it left her stunned.
