Kuja (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
histrionic) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
queenofheartsrp2012-03-19 06:11 pm
histrionic) wrote in queenofheartsrp2012-03-19 06:11 pm
Entry tags:
❧ seventh stanza [action]
[Kuja is very much enjoying the change that has come over the Gardens. Why would she mind the quiet of the Vine? So much less chattering to endure. All those silly voices are silenced for the best. She tends to keep to herself as it is. She likes solitude, and isolation is her well-deserved fate.
The soft singing on the breeze only pleases her, a strange music, but she likes the strangeness of voices from unseen lips carried by the breeze, the odd atmosphere. She prefers the darker colors and long shadows. It all suits her, satisfies her, appeals to her taste. It reminds her a little of the Evil Forest of home, but far more varied and more changeable and fey.
She floats through the changed landscape, floating and gliding through the air, like a ghost or spirit who haunts the Gardens, shining in her flowing finery.
In the orchard, she finds oddly swollen and shining fruits, like colored eggs. Experimentally, she taps one open with a long, purple fingernail. Her eyes brighten as the fruit breaks open and seems to reveal a second egg within, though this one as a shell as clear as crystal.
If she so chose she could hurl it to the ground below and shatter it, but she quells the sudden urge to do so. (Always, that impulse to destroy.) Instead, smiling to herself, she cups it in her palms and gazes into its depths. There's quite a pretty scene within, a world in miniature. A tiny world, contained within her hands, hers to keep or crush. The idea has some appeal, and surely, there's no harm in it? She floats upward, finds another egglike fruit, pleased by its soft glow. She smiles. Really, these things are entirely too tempting. She just has to see what's inside...]
The soft singing on the breeze only pleases her, a strange music, but she likes the strangeness of voices from unseen lips carried by the breeze, the odd atmosphere. She prefers the darker colors and long shadows. It all suits her, satisfies her, appeals to her taste. It reminds her a little of the Evil Forest of home, but far more varied and more changeable and fey.
She floats through the changed landscape, floating and gliding through the air, like a ghost or spirit who haunts the Gardens, shining in her flowing finery.
In the orchard, she finds oddly swollen and shining fruits, like colored eggs. Experimentally, she taps one open with a long, purple fingernail. Her eyes brighten as the fruit breaks open and seems to reveal a second egg within, though this one as a shell as clear as crystal.
If she so chose she could hurl it to the ground below and shatter it, but she quells the sudden urge to do so. (Always, that impulse to destroy.) Instead, smiling to herself, she cups it in her palms and gazes into its depths. There's quite a pretty scene within, a world in miniature. A tiny world, contained within her hands, hers to keep or crush. The idea has some appeal, and surely, there's no harm in it? She floats upward, finds another egglike fruit, pleased by its soft glow. She smiles. Really, these things are entirely too tempting. She just has to see what's inside...]
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I have no intention of destroying them myself. [Well, she is restraining herself, remembering her intention of reforming, though it is tempting.] Although if someone already has, I would like to hear the result, after the damage is already done and cannot be undone. No doubt someone will, soon or late, through accident or design.
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I saw no harm in asking, as you seem to have opened enough of them to say that no two were alike.
Tell me, what did you do with the ones you opened?
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[She leans back in midair, taking up a sitting-while-floating pose while gazing into the world-egg in her hands again.]
It's almost spring, and the Queen is forgetful, and her Gardens begin to darken. What could it be that she's forgetting, to her sorrow? At least she has her dolls to keep her company and ease her loneliness.
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...if you take any stock in that kind of thinking.
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Then perhaps we ought to help her, if your theory is true. If only she made it an easier task.
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A symbolic death. At least it would make the snow go away.
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A jest, my dear. I am well acquainted with metaphors and symbolism.
Have you made the acquaintance of humor?
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