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@drakosar / !

@theprovidence,   “nonsense”  [she knew the tales well. witches, warlocks, sorcerers and bedlams.  all filled with magic,  all the enemy—or so the wise men say.  then again,  to Leanna, they were only tales.   stories that were only true so long as you permitted them to be]  “if they deny you,    they deny a friend of the queen and if they deny the friend of the queen they deny the queen by extension.  you will be there by my side.”

*  hugs u back Haii

	“Many people visit,  many leave,  few return and I do not remember them.  You ( … ) I would recognize your features from anywhere.  Refined,  [beautiful],  carefree in a way that reminds oneself of their own home.”  Words tinged with sugar,  drawled out in a way that would have one second—guessing Mahi’s intentions.  The smile of their face says otherwise,  relief at her return as winter creeped along the horizon,  threatening to douse the grounds with cold snow.  “Stay for a while?  I’ll make it worthwhile.”


@canniluvs  “ many are wise ”   [WINTER HAD BEGAN TO SHOW HER SOLEMN FACE.  THE WINDS GREW CRUELER AND COLDER EVERY NIGHT,  AND IN THE FAR NORTH THE SKY HAD FINALLY WEPT WHITE TEARS.   EVEN THE GRASS IN STOIC’S END DULLED IN SHADE.  SOON,  ALL OF DRAKOSIA WOULD FIND ITSELF PAINTED WITH A BRUSH DIPPED IN IVORY.    IT WAS LIMITED TIME.   LIMITED TIME THAT THE QUEEN USED TO HEAR THEIR MUSIC AGAIN]   “ i’m not often reminded of my wisdom.  perhaps that is why i am here ”

@heraldher !!

ⓘ.    Line!

;  praying hands 

music is a wonderful way to bring people together,  some say music is the real glue but us performers rarely get the credit.  no bother though,  i love when people enjoy my music,  even if the story seems to go over their heads.   [the music continues its gentle lull,  coexisting with a profound sadness that seems to spill into the room].   my hometown was the same way,  beautiful scenery filled with so much of my family standing alongside each other,  dancing and singing.  our nights spanned for so long,  and we rejoiced in each others happiness like no other.   [a small pause,  the music ceases for a moment as their head tilts down,  reminiscing on their own memories].  do you miss it?  your home,  i mean.

THE CHORDS SUNG A MELODY THAT REVIVED THE BONES OF MEMORY.  AS SHE SAT AND LISTENED,   WHAT WAS ONCE JOY TURNED BITTERSWEET.  HER SMILE THINNED,  HER EYES DOWNCAST, AND HER HANDS FUMBLED TOGETHER LIKE THE USED TO WHEN SHE WAS NERVOUS AS A CHILD.  WHERE SHE STILL SMELT OF SHEEP AND BAKED BREAD,  NOT SCENTED OILS AND WINE    « a far place »   SHE ANSWERED THEM,  LIFTING HER HEAD AND LETTING THE GRIN FALL BACK IN ITS RIGHTFUL PLACE   «  beyond the thundering sea—music was loud there,  too.  you remind me of the musicians that used to play in the markets.   their talent is never forgotten »   @canniluvs

[their usual flamboyance is nowhere to be seen as their agile fingers plucking at the strings with fluid motion.  years and years of practice shine between the cords,  a mere showcase of their skill.  [entertainer] was one of their professed skills but the woman across from them exudes a different type of energy compared to their usual audience].  pardon me if this is (too) upfront and rude to ask,  but where do you hail from?   i’m always curious on where others have travelled from.