Post by Kisaiya on Jan 28, 2022 9:52:37 GMT
She wasn't totally sure how she managed to get here, or why she hadn't just walked on by. The Institute towered above her, and right before her were its old timey iron gates, built taller than two of her put together. She hadn't believed the rumors at first... Wrought iron, brought over from the old world on ships hundreds of years ago, buried in the clean and virgin soil untouched by war. Dug up by the family of Keepers... There were so many stories that flew around Telluride when people thought nobody was actually listening, but these words they kept saying...
Did they have any idea what they were talking about?
Kisaiya was a strange sight to see on a normal basis, with her pale hair and red eyes, her hands tucked gingerly into the space between her upper arm and her chest, near her armpits. She was the kind of slender that came from years of honing her craft. She wore no shoes and black harem pants hand tied at her hips and ankles.
Every shift of her weight made the bells of her numerous scarves jingle. She wore one around her head, around her wrist, around her waist, and around her ankle. Normally, she'd wear more, but she had been in a rush that morning to get out from under the watchful eyes of her "mentor." She regretted her decision the first time somebody gazed at the sheer amount of skin that was showing. It was cold, she should put on a jacket of some sort, people kept talking about it all. She didn't know how to scream "I'm not one of you" any louder. They never paid her any mind until she stood out in a crowd.
She hissed in a breath and then deliberately turned her face away from their gaze, staring up, instead, at the iron. It felt familiar, even before she ever touched it. The old world... the mother land, the untouched... There were so many names for the land of her people. This simple piece of architecture... It came from the same place she did, and that warmed her heart.
Did they have any idea what they were talking about?
Kisaiya was a strange sight to see on a normal basis, with her pale hair and red eyes, her hands tucked gingerly into the space between her upper arm and her chest, near her armpits. She was the kind of slender that came from years of honing her craft. She wore no shoes and black harem pants hand tied at her hips and ankles.
Every shift of her weight made the bells of her numerous scarves jingle. She wore one around her head, around her wrist, around her waist, and around her ankle. Normally, she'd wear more, but she had been in a rush that morning to get out from under the watchful eyes of her "mentor." She regretted her decision the first time somebody gazed at the sheer amount of skin that was showing. It was cold, she should put on a jacket of some sort, people kept talking about it all. She didn't know how to scream "I'm not one of you" any louder. They never paid her any mind until she stood out in a crowd.
She hissed in a breath and then deliberately turned her face away from their gaze, staring up, instead, at the iron. It felt familiar, even before she ever touched it. The old world... the mother land, the untouched... There were so many names for the land of her people. This simple piece of architecture... It came from the same place she did, and that warmed her heart.
