The Nightingale
She/her
Twenty four
November 11
Slateport
Heterosexual
Assistant
executive
Defiance in her flesh, her blood, her bones; written on her soul
hyacinth hall
POSTED ON Aug 14, 2019 1:55:42 GMT
[nospaces][googlefont="Beth Ellen|Poiret One"] [attr="class","isras2g"] [attr="class","israchats"]
The sun is peaking through the windows.[break][break] A delicate side step that is like second nature, well practiced and familiar to those that know a well trained movement surfaces in her step, slipping her out from under the warmth of the growing light. This is not like home where she can just draw all the curtains and hide herself away. She already accepts that she will miss out on many of the activities trying to avoid the sun light but at least she can make her way to the kitchen right? [break][break] Reality is sobering and she wakes a little more before she's in the tiled room, finding a kettle still warm. Long elegant fingers flit by the cupboards, combing through for the proper cup. One that is just right before it is set on the counter with a soft clack of ceramic on counter top. Tea and water soon follow in familiar movements. The beginning of every night and afternoon shifting to a morning sun that she does not belong in. [break][break] She stays in the kitchen, aware of the chatter still down the hall and chooses to lean against the counter top, cup in hand while the tea steeps. She brings it close and lets the scent of it wake her a little more.
i'm no sweet dream but i'm a hell of a knife [attr="class","israbox"] [newclass=".israimg"]position: absolute; z-index: 10;[/newclass][newclass=".isras2g"]position: relative; z-index: 5;[/newclass][newclass=".israbox"]position: absolute; z-index: -10;[/newclass][newclass=".israchats b"]color: #979c6b;[/newclass][newclass=".israchats i"]color: #5d96a5;[/newclass]
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